


New Orleans Roulette

by caitastrophe8499



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: AU, Art History, F/M, Inspired by Vicky Bliss Novels, museum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 46,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitastrophe8499/pseuds/caitastrophe8499
Summary: Sara is working at a prestigious art gallery in Central City when she meets art enthusiast Leonard Smith. He's arrogant, condescending, and too damn handsome to hate. Sara gives it her best shot, anyway. When clever forgeries of her favorite paintings are found with a corpse, Sara has to get to the bottom of it. Her path brings her to New Orleans, where she meets Smith again. Whether they want to or not, they have to work together in order to expose the truth and survive. How hard could that be? Inspired by the Vicky Bliss novels.
Relationships: Sara Lance/Leonard Snart
Comments: 221
Kudos: 65





	1. Judith Slaying Holofernes

**Author's Note:**

> (Full disclaimer: I own nothing, and I am definitely not an art historian. I've been Googling everything and taking massive liberties. Enjoy at your own risk.)
> 
> Judith Slaying Holofernes  
> Judith Slaying Holofernes is a painting by the Italian early Baroque artist Artemisia Gentileschi, completed in 1612-13 and now at the Museo Capodimonte, Naples, Italy. It is considered one of her iconic works. The canvas shows the scene of Judith beheading Holofernes.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judith_Slaying_Holofernes_(Artemisia_Gentileschi,_Naples)

> Sara’s heels clacked through the back halls of the Central City Art Museum. Eyeing the empty passages, and keeping away from the stacked boxes along the sides, she turned her gaze back to the paper she was editing. She had an office, but too many people knew where it was. The only way to be safe was to keep moving, and not run into-

“Sara!”

...that.

Sara paused, keeping her sigh silent, and turned to face her boss. “What’s up, Ray?”

Ray Palmer was probably the nicest guy in the world. Truly, the biggest sweetheart, which is why Sara chose to constantly walk around the museum as opposed to having to tell him no. It was nearly impossible to tell Ray no, not when he looked at her with those giant puppy dog eyes that made her feel like the world’s biggest heel. He was a sweet man and a decent curator. She’d definitely worked with worse, but he wasn’t the greatest, either. He was so easily distracted, and far too invested in his worker’s personal lives and interests. Too many meetings had devolved into Ray trying to give relationship advice, despite his seemingly perpetually bad luck when it came to women.

“Yes?” Sara asked, making sure to clearly display the pile of work in her arm and the pen in her hand. This article wouldn’t get submitted by the cutoff time if this kept on.

“Oh, are you busy?” he asked, his eyes wide and completely guileless.

“Always,” she said, unable to help a small smile.

“I looked for you in your office.”

“I’m trying to finish this article, and my office can get rather busy.”

“If you need help, you know that-”

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Sara interrupted, all too aware that Ray’s attempts at help always ended up in a complete rewrite of her article, which she did in addition to her original article. Ray was brilliant, truly, but she was content with her work the way it was.

“Of course,” he said, giving her a giant smile and blinding smile, honestly okay with her refusal. That was part of the reason she loved working here.

Being a leggy blonde had a multitude of advantages, but getting people to take her seriously or believe that she was capable of doing any work whatsoever was always a challenge. One that got increasingly difficult the older she got and the more professional her clothes became. Her previous jobs demanded a sense of propriety that Ray’s command didn’t require, but Sara leaned into it. Her work wardrobe consisted of pencil skirts and blouses, and heels that would allow her to be somewhat closer in height to her coworkers. She left her blonde hair down some days, but now it was twisted into a ponytail, to keep it out of her face while she worked.

However, looking the way she did tend to give her a particular reputation. The men in her field assumed she was dense and slept her way to her degree, only to get rejected and punched, while the women tended to be catty and distant, which Sara was quite good at returning. If they were going to judge her anyway, Sara made no efforts to dress down or censure herself. She liked the way she looked and dressed, and if people had a problem with that, it was their issue. Safe to say, Sara didn’t have many friends in the art field, and when she came to Central City, she assumed it would be the same. But Ray was so good-hearted and honest that he broke down her walls. He was her closest friend at work and knew what she was capable of. For that, Sara would put up with a lifetime of interruptions to be appreciated and valued at her job.

“So what did you need?” Sara asked, after a few seconds of silence.

“Oh, right. There’s a man in Baroque asking to speak with a curator.”

“And you couldn’t speak to him?”

“He’s at your favorite.” Ray grinned and winked before leaving.

Narrowing her eyes at his back, Sara sighed audibly, then tucked her work under her arm, her pen behind her ear, and went into the museum proper.

She did love this museum, despite her solitude. The halls were bright and wide, with worn, wood floors and blue walls to highlight the art, the paintings taken care of to the best of their ability. Though every museum needed more funding, this one wasn’t too terribly off. She liked it here.

Making her way through the Renaissance, Sara walked directly towards the far corner of Baroque, a little out of the main hallways. Despite knowing she was here to speak to a guest, her steps were drawn to her favorite painting automatically. Luckily, there was only one man in the area and he was standing directly in front of it.

Since he was so engaged in the painting, Sara took a moment to look him over and realized why Ray had winked.

The gentleman was older, early forties, perhaps, or late thirties. It was hard to tell with his close-cut salt and pepper hair, combined with the sharp jawline and blue eyes. His slacks were dark blue, the button-up shirt white with blue stripes, and rolled up to expose his forearms. She could see the glint of a gold watch, even with his hands in his pockets, but couldn’t see if there was a ring on his finger. He was handsome, and Sara was suddenly okay with being interrupted.

Coming up closer, Sara smiled. “Good afternoon.”

The man’s eyes slid over to her without turning his head. “No thanks,” he said, the drawl so different from the usual voices of patrons. It was slower, more affected, and so very low.

Sara frowned. “I’m sorry, I was told you had questions about this piece.”

“I do.”

“Great, my name’s Sara Lance, and I’m-”

“But not from an intern,” he interrupted, glancing at her again. Though the blue eyes were more striking than she expected, but Sara’s interest in him was waning as her irritation rose.

“I’m not an intern,” she said.

He smirked slightly. “Fine.” He shifted in front of the plaque. “Tell me about this painting.”

God, she hated people like this. Quizzing her, as if to suggest that if she didn’t know everything about every painting made her less competent. Not bothering to hide her irritation, Sara arched her brow. “ _Judith Slaying Holofernes_ , by Artemisia Gentileschi, was completed between 1612 and 1613. She created another version of this painting sometime afterward, but no later than 1621, but the original utilizes more primary colors. The use of light clearly shows her studies under Caravaggio. We currently have this on loan from the Museo Capodimonte for the next year.”

The man arched a brow, apparently the only acknowledgment she would receive for being right. “A basic assessment.”

“Did you have a real question?” Sara said coolly. “Because I have actual work to do and far more decent patrons I could be assisting.”

“Do you agree with the theory this was merely a revenge painting, considering her assault in 1610 by Agostino Tassi?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed at his question. “Artemisia’s work consistently portrayed strong female figures, like _Jael and Sisera_. Her experiences may have made it more personal, but I believe she would have done this painting regardless. And the assault was in 1611.”

“I know. So, what do you think?” he asked, gesturing to the painting. “Too violent?”

Sara pulled her eyes away from the infuriating man to the painting on the wall. The spilling of red across the white sheets, the vibrant blue of Judith’s dress, the huge, meaty hand grabbing at the maid. “I think it’s appropriate.”

“So you agree that with Marinetti, that ‘Art, in fact, can be nothing but violence, cruelty, and injustice’?” he asked.

Sara stared at the painting. “No.”

“Then what?”

She looked back at the man, his blue eyes without the condescension he’d shown earlier. That didn’t stop her. “I hold more with Degas. Art is what you make others see. She's showing that no woman should suffer at the hands of a man.”

A faint lift of the corner of his mouth made him seem younger. “I’m Leonard Smith.”

“And I’m busy. Anything else I can help you with?” Sara asked.

“Unfortunately not,” he said.

“Well, let’s not do this again. Good day, Mr. Smith,” she said, dripping with sarcasm as she walked away.

“Good day to you as well, Ms. Lance,” he called after her.

Sara couldn’t resist. She turned, walking backward in her high heels, and saw him finally giving her his full attention, too little too late, and pierced him with a painfully fake smile.

“It’s _Dr._ Lance.”

And she left Mr. Smith and all thoughts of him behind her.

It wasn’t until weeks later that she would become aware of just how significant that meeting had been, so much more than a passing irritation, but such is the manner of all great adventures.

* * *

Two and a half weeks later, Sara was in her office, gathering her items as quickly as possible. She had missed the first deadline for the journal by two days, this time, she was taking no chances, three weeks early. She got her paper, the book she still needed to refer to in order to complete the paper, and the red pencil she hated. Putting it all together on a clipboard, she turned to the door in order to-

“Sara?”

Sara let out a frustrated huff and managed not to roll her eyes, but only barely. Turning to the intrusion, she held onto her clipboard, book, and hope for her work. “Yes, Ray?”

“I need you to come with me.”

“Ray, I’ve got work-”

“Now, Sara.”

Her eyes lingered on his expression for a moment, taking in the severity of the regularly happy face. She put down her clipboard and book. “Where to?”

“The police station.” Ray turned and walked out, assuming she would follow.

She did. Quickly.

The walk to the Central City Police Department was brisk, neither of them willing to stay out in the heat for long. Ray gave her zero information, saying that all would be explained later, but he fidgeted nervously. Her curiosity was rising, but she held it in, patience winning for the first time in a while.

The marble steps of CCPD were always so clean, the building as advanced as its scientific research centers. Sara had always felt at home in police stations, her father’s influence overpowered even her wilder teenage years. They walked up and in, Ray stopping at the counter to speak with the woman behind it. All Sara could make out was a name - West. Ray and Sara were directed to a small conference room in the back. The shades were already drawn and the door was closed.

Ray went in first, Sara right on his heels. There was a long table in the center, with six chairs pushed in around it, and a large covered folder. A man in police blues got to his feet, nodding at them in turn.

“Thank you for coming,” the man said. “I’m Detective West.”

“Dr. Raymond Palmer. I’ve brought my associate, Dr. Sara Lance, per your request.”

Detective West looked at Sara. “Pleasure to meet you. Dr. Palmer says you’re the resident art expert.”

“One of many,” she said, unable to help from giving Ray a smile of appreciation.

“And you’re sure-” West started.

“Sara’s focus has been on Baroque and she’s been a model and loyal employee for years. I trust her with my life.”

“What’s going on?” Sara said, finally losing her patience.

Detective West sighed. “This morning we found a body. Murder. We’re still looking into it. But it was what he had on him that made us call you.”

West opened the folder and revealed what was beneath.

Sara stared at Judith’s face as she decapitated Holofernes, her words choked with anger. “What the hell is this doing here?”

“He had these with him in a poster tube. Along with others.”

Sara kept staring at the painting as the two talked.

“We didn’t know who else to call without causing a panic.”

“Sara,” Ray said quietly. “Is it real?”

Her heart pounding in her throat, Sara moved the painting away from the others, to get a better look in the light. Though she wished she could claim it was due to the brush strokes or the pigment of the paint, it was easier to look at the canvas itself. It wasn’t nearly as aged as it should be, as she knew the real one was, having studied it for so long. “It’s a forgery,” she said confidently. “But a very good one.”

“And the others?” West asked.

Sara slowly put aside the painting - _her_ painting - to look over the others. She knew some of them, a Diego Velasquez, a Carravagio, even a lesser-known Rembrandt, but there were others she wasn’t familiar with. She looked through a couple, focusing on the age of the canvas and the colors used. “These three are definitely forgeries,” she said, putting them with Judith. “But I’m not sure about these ones. If they are forgeries, they’re excellent.”

“That’s what I was worried about,” West sighed. He sagged into a chair, gesturing for Sara and Ray to do the same.

“We’ve been looking for where the originals should be - Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Louvre, Smithsonian, the Acropolis, the New Orleans Museum of Art, and several private collections. Big names. If we make it public that there could be forgeries in those places, it’d cause a panic.”

“Not to mention,” Ray said, “if the originals aren’t there, we risk them being destroyed by the forgers to hide the evidence.”

West nodded, looking over at Sara. “The dead guy’s ID says he’s from New Orleans, and at least four of these are from the New Orleans Museum of Art.”

Sara sighed, seeing a connection. “ _Judith_ passed through there before coming here. And I’m pretty certain most of these were on loan to New Orleans at some point in the last eight years.”

“Exactly,” West said. “What we need is for an expert to go and see if the ones there are real.”

Sara blinked, looking between him and Ray. “Wait, you want me to go?”

“You’re qualified and have good reason to be asking to see any works not on display,” West said. “And you’re obviously good at spotting forgeries.”

“This goes a bit beyond my job description.”

“I’ve got a contact in New Orleans PD, who can help you get settled, and be your point of contact,” West said. “We’d pay you and you’d be doing a great service to your field. At this rate, all I can do is ask the museums if they’ve got forgeries on display. They’re going to close ranks and say no, and we risk any chance of discovering who this man worked for, how he got so close to the art to study it for a forgery, and keeping it from happening again.”

“Someone has died,” Ray reminded West, his voice a little higher than normal.

“All I’m asking is for her to go and check the paintings in the museum and any nearby collectors, not hunt down the sellers or artists themselves.”

“You have to have someone better qualified.”

“If I did, why would I have called you?”

Sara let out a breath as they argued. Her eyes were drawn to the painting on the table. A painting she loved. A painting she’d nearly cried over getting the chance to see it in person. A painting that most people in this country never even had a chance to see. A painting that deserved to be seen in its glory, that deserved to be appreciated, that deserved to be seen by those who needed to see it.

One of many paintings most people wouldn’t have had the chance to see if it weren’t for the loans between museums. She looked at Judith’s determination and nodded.

“I’ll do it,” Sara interrupted them.

“Sara,” Ray started.

“Some of these are on loan from other museums,” she said, looking at _Judith Slaying Holofernes,_ “if it gets out that we could have lost the original, or it had been replaced with a forgery, we could do a lot of damage to inter-museum loans.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“No offense intended,” West said, “but I’ve seen parts of Dr. Lance’s record. I think she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.”

“He’s not wrong,” Sara said.

“Are you certain?” Ray asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said. “I can do it.”

“Happy to hear it,” Detective West said, getting to his feet. “We’ll book your flight-”

“No, I’ve got that,” Ray said, waving his hand. “I’ll send you the details.”

“Oh, I mean, that’s technically not regula-”

Ray was already on his feet, his phone in his hand. “Great! I’ve already got your information, so you’ll have copies of the confirmations. We’ll be in touch!”

Sara smiled at West apologetically, then followed Ray out.

“Good luck,” West called after her.


	2. Joseph Telling His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a number of biblical works, including The Raising of the Cross, Joseph Telling His Dreams, and The Stoning of Saint Stephen, Rembrandt painted himself as a character in the crowd. Durham suggests that this was because the Bible was for Rembrandt "a kind of diary, an account of moments in his own life."  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_paintings_by_Rembrandt#/media/File:Rembrandt_200.jpg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait to post this, but I've been so excited and really enjoying writing this story. Enjoy!  
> Thanks for reading!

After the police station, Ray had hurried her to her own apartment. Sara was still a bit in shock, and Ray definitely took advantage of it.

Sara found herself sitting on the edge of her bed as Ray grabbed her battered suitcase and started packing it up.

“Now, it’ll be very warm, so you’ll want some sundresses,” Ray said, going into her closet. “Sara, you really should hang these on satin hangers,” he admonished, folding them neatly and putting them into her bags. “And you’ll need some of your usual work clothes for the days you go to the museum,” he said, gathering a few, surprisingly, well-coordinated outfits. When he started over to her underwear drawer, Sara finally snapped out of her daze and beat him to it.

“Raymond,” she said firmly.

“Oh, alright,” he said, waving his hand to allow her to take over as if it wasn’t her room and her things. “Just make sure you pack some...you know.”

“Underwear?” Sara raised her brows.

“Something  _ nice _ ,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in a way that she never wanted to see from him again.

“Ray. It’s work.”

“No, Sara,” Ray said, excitedly, “it’s New Orleans! And this coming Tuesday is Mardi Gras! Jazz music! The bayou! It’s such an adventure!”

She scoffed, “If you want adventure so badly, you’re more than welcome to take my place.” She surreptitiously took a cuter set in navy blue in addition to her normal things.

“No, you’re the one with the expertise in the area, but I do want daily updates on how your search is going.” 

“I’m just there to see if I can spot a forgery,” Sara reminded him, putting the rest of her things in the bag. She went to her bathroom and gathered what she would need from there, her phone charger, the article she was still attempting to edit, and a book, because she was feeling truly optimistic. “I’m not going to catch the criminals, just narrow it down.”

He pursed his lips at her. “Please. I read your background check, too. You’re going to kick ass out there.”

“Don’t say ass. It’s weird coming from you.” Ray just grinned, so she continued. “And I’m not going to be catching anyone. I’m just going to visit the museum and any nearby collectors, and then come back.”

“That leaves you plenty of time to meet a mysterious stranger.”

“There will barely be time for a drink, let alone romance.”

“That’s exactly what people say right before they meet their soulmates!”

“You are a very sweet, very deranged person, Ray.”

“I know.” He grinned. Then he reached into his pocket. “So, I’ve already made your flight and hotel reservations, you’ll have the confirmation in your email. You leave in two hours, so we should get you to the airport. Here’s some cash, and a company credit card. Do what you will with it, we can expense all of it away as work. I trust your judgment. And yes, alcohol counts as an expense.”

Sara took the money with only a little reluctance. Though the museum paid well, she hadn’t budgeted for peak tourist season and a cross country trip. And it was no secret that Raymond Palmer was loaded. She carefully pocketed it with her license and employee ID. “You’re only encouraging me to get drunk so I’ll meet someone.”

“That is absolutely true,” he said, unrepentant. “It’s been three years since Nyssa. You deserve some fun.”

“While looking for forgeries and people who might be killing them?” Sara said.

For a moment, a flicker of doubt passed over Ray’s kind face. “Be careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” She picked up her purse and suitcase. “You driving me to the airport?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then let’s go.”

* * *

The second Sara stepped off of the plane, she regretted every decision she’d made.

The humidity of New Orleans, even in February, was astonishing. It was like swimming through molasses and trying to take a breath was like inhaling water. Everything moved so slowly: the line to get her single bag of luggage, the line for the taxis, even the traffic seemed to move slower than expected. Feeling the sweat pool at the small of her back was revolting, and she found herself feeling grateful to Ray for packing her some dresses.

But once they hit the city proper, Sara found her regret fading. The old brick buildings lining the streets, crowds everywhere, music coming out of every window - it was amazing.

The hotel wasn’t as close to the museum as she would have liked, but she didn’t mind. Located on the infamous Bourbon Street, it’s arched white windows on the first floor led to balconies on the second, and she silently thanked Ray for booking it. At the desk, she was greeted by her first name and a bellhop carried up her single bag despite her protests. Those protests died in her throat when he opened the door for her.

The king-sized bed was delightful and the while tiled bathroom was definitely appealing, but Sara was drawn to the double doors that led to an iron-wrought balcony looking directly over Bourbon Street. It was perfect.

“Anything else I can do for you?” the bellboy asked.

“No, thank you,” Sara said, putting her purse on the bed.

He nodded and took the tip she belatedly handed over to him before closing the door behind him.

Sara opened up the doors to the balcony and leaned her forearms against it, the humidity not as oppressive with the air conditioning running behind her. She gave herself a moment to smile down at the ever-present crowds, then turned back inside and pulled out her beat-up computer to start getting to work. Research into the museum and past sales records as far as she could go wasn’t quite as tedious with the constant laughter and sounds of music from below.

The next morning, Sara got an early start, heading to the police station first. She was stopped at the desk.

“Who are you here to see?” the receptionist asked.

“Officer Hunter,” Sara answered, looking at the text from West.

The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly, then nodded. “Uh, yes. Of course. Come on back.”

Sara was directed to the desk in the farthest corner, with folders piled precariously on the edge. She could see a ratty brown duster hanging on the back of the chair and a man leaning on the desk, his nose inches from a paper.

Sara cleared her throat. “Officer Hunter?”

He glanced up, eyes bleary and sunken in. “I don’t handle disputes with pimps, figure it out on your own.” His English accent was heavy with exhaustion and irritation, so Sara tried to reign in her temper.

Sara took a slow breath and forced a smile. “I’m Dr. Sara Lance, here from Central City by request of Detective West.”

Hunter blinked and looked up at her again, his eyes clearing somewhat. “Oh, I-I didn’t realize. My apologies.”

Sara said nothing, and Hunter found room on the desk for all the shit on his chair, moving it so she had a place to sit. Sara did so, meeting his faded blue gaze.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been on the clock for nearly three days straight now. West mentioned you’d be coming, but I didn’t expect…” he waved at Sara as if that would communicate whatever outdated ideal he had of an art history doctorate.

“I’m heading to the museum today. I just wanted to check in per Detective West’s request,” she said. “Anything I should be aware of?”

“Nothing at the moment,” he said, his eyes drifting from her face and heading south.

Sara cleared her throat. “Then I’ll go.”

“Yes, of course. Here.” He fumbled with the things on his desk for a moment, grabbing a card and a pencil without lead, before dropping that in favor of a pen. He scrawled a number on it. “This is my personal number.”

“Great,” Sara said, deciding that Hunter would be just this side of useless. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get into trouble. If you find something, call me first. Don’t go gallivanting off by yourself.”

“Absolutely,” Sara lied. She’d contact Detective West before anything too crazy, but this man was going to be useless.

“Where are you staying?” Rip asked.

She gave him the hotel, but not her room number. He was a cop, he could figure it out. Then, before he could press for details on what exactly she was going to do, Sara saw herself out.

The walk from the police station to the museum wasn’t very long, but it was humid, even for February. She had to pull up her hair before climbing the steps up to the museum, nodding to a man as he held the door for her. Once she got inside, however, she forgot her discomfort.

The museum was part of a renovated classic building. Large airy windows on both floors provided a cross breeze through the main halls, while the art was stored on the side rooms. Sara spoke with the front desk and flashed her Central City ID, along with the letter from Ray, and she was quickly given a guest pass and directions to the restoration room, as several of their popular Baroque’s had been taken down.

Sara walked through the museum, taking a quick spin through their rather large Baroque section. Only one of the paintings from Detective’s West list was there, and it was one she knew already was real.

Sara made her way to the restoration room, knocking on the door and announcing herself.

“Hello?” she called, stepping in and letting the door close behind her. “It’s Dr. Sara Lance, from Central City.”

Soft music played from a speaker in the corner. A man with dark hair looked up as she entered, smiling. “Hello. They told me you would be coming.”

He was an older man, definitely attractive, with a very large smile. Sara noticed he was working and just smiled, not shaking his hand. She looked over his shoulder, seeing one of the paintings on West’s list. She waited while the restorer finished cleaning off his hands, eyeing the painting closely. Looking at this one, it was easy to tell it wasn’t a forgery. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Sara turned back to the man.

“Sorry about that.” He held out his hand. “I’m Malcolm Merlyn.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I was just here to observe. Your restoration methods are infamous, and we’re trying to update ours.”

“I have to admit, most of the visitors I get back here are ancient old men telling me how to do my job, so this is a pleasant surprise.”

Sara chuckled faintly. “I can imagine. I’m pretty used to people trying to tell me how to do my job.”

“Well, what would you like to know?” he asked.

Sara pelted him with the usual questions, especially focusing on storage. Merlyn showed her around, indicating the paintings he’d taken off of display. Two of the paintings she saw were on West’s list and real. The tension in her chest lessened just a bit more. If so many of them were forgeries, it stood to reason that all of them must be. Maybe their forger was just very good.

Merlyn continued talking. “Due to funding, we’ve also accepted some outside commissions. Not that I mind, it keeps me busy.”

“Do you have a lot of collectors in the area?” Sara asked, following Merlyn back to the front of the room.

“One or two. I don’t get work from them often, but often enough.”

“Fantastic. I’m glad to hear you’re helping out the community.”

“Oh, I do what I can. But I’m the only one here, so I can’t do as much as I’d like,” Merlyn said. He leaned across the table to retrieve his badge to unlock the door and Sara took a step back, glancing around one last time. There was a painting off by the door, obviously finished. It was partially covered, but she saw a corner. It was enough.

It was the Rembrandt from the list. The one that should have been back in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam after its visit here. Sara kept her bland smile on her face as she thanked Malcolm and shook his hand again, heading to the door.

“Thank you again.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling as he shifted to put the corner where the other paintings were out of sight. “If I think of anything else that might help you, I’m happy to pass it along. Where are you staying?”

He couldn’t be that stupid. He worked with them. He’d know if they were forgeries, wouldn't he? Was this how the paintings were getting out? Passing them off to other collectors? Taking the real ones off the walls and replacing them with a copy? Or was he the one doing the actual forgeries? He had the skill.

“I’m actually leaving town tomorrow,” Sara said wistfully. “Just a short trip.”

“That’s too bad.”

“But here’s my email. If you think of anything that might help, I’d really appreciate it.” Sara reached into her bag, pulling out one of her cards and handing it over. She made her smile a little wider, adding in a small giggle.

“Anytime.”

“Thank you again,” Sara said, tucking her hair behind her ear and dropping her eyes for a moment.

“It was a pleasure,” Merlyn said, his smile just as wide.

Sara turned her back on him, ignoring the way the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She walked straight to the front desk, dropped off her badge, and continued out the door. Then she kept walking three blocks away before hailing a taxi to take her to the hotel down the block from her own. She walked the street for a while, mingling with the crowd, but didn’t see anyone getting out of a cab or following her.

She got back to her room and closed the door, leaning against it and taking a deep breath. Quickly, she wrote out a text to West -  **_I found a forgery in the NOMA restoration room. Restorer might be the forger. His name is Malcolm Merlyn._ **

She sat down on the edge of the bed, goosebumps erupting on her skin from the AC. Leaning back, her hand hit something that crinkled as her phone buzzed.

Turning, Sara spied a piece of hotel stationery folded on her bed. Picking it up, she read the scrawled note and sighed.

_ Stop digging and get out of town. You’re in over your head. _

Then she glanced at her phone. _**Nothing specific on Merlyn. He’s been working for the museum for years. Not saying you’re wrong, but we’ve got no proof. The painting he did might just be another copy - not illegal to own those. Keep your head down. We don’t want you drawing attention.** _

Sara inhaled and let it out slowly, lying down on her bed as she dialed West’s number directly. As soon as he picked up, Sara, while rereading the note left for her, said, “Yeah, so about that…”


	3. Muhammad Shah and Nader Shah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muhammad Shah (1702-1748), Indian emperor, and Nader (Nadir) Shah (1688-1747), shah of Iran. Miniature painting by an unknown artist of the Mughal school, (21 x 31 cm), Mughal dynasty (1526-1858). Musee Guimet, national museum of Asian Arts, Paris, France  
> https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/muhammad-shah-indian-emperor-and-nader-shah-shah-of-iran-news-photo/593278314

“ _ Sara, you can’t be serious _ ,” Ray said over the phone.

“You’re the one who wanted me out here,” Sara said. “You can’t complain now.”

For the first time, she was enjoying herself. The small cafe across the street from the museum was quintessentially New Orleans. She had a coffee, a warm beignet, and no intention of leaving her seat. 

_ “Yeah, but I thought you’d meet a sexy New Orleans cop and celebrate Mardi Gras with him while the police did all the work.” _

Sara scoffed, thinking of Rip. “That’s highly unlikely. Besides, they still wouldn’t be able to identify the forgeries.”

_ “So what’s your plan, then?” _

“West is trying to identify some local collectors, and I’m hanging out around the museum to see if anyone leaves with a canvas or two.”

_ “What if they don’t leave through the front door?” _

“Then I’ll know the restorer is in on it and we’ll still narrow it down,” she answered. “If nothing happens, I’ll follow up with the locals and go home.”

There was a sigh from the other side of the line. _ “And the note?” _

That was the wrench in Sara’s carefully protected plan. All the precautions she took meant nothing if someone knew where she was staying. The note suggested that someone knew exactly why she was here and was following her. That didn’t bode well, considering the corpse in Central City’s morgue.

“It was a warning. But I’m not doing any digging, and now everyone thinks I’m only here for Mardi Gras. If I’ve found nothing by then, West says I should come home.” She stared at the museum for a moment, Ray’s discontent silence giving her a pause. “But I think the restorer is in on it.”

_ “Well, the only person we know was in on it was killed.” _

“I know.”

_ “Be careful.” _

“I am,” she reassured him. “And when I get home, I’ll tell you all about it.”

_ “I’m anxiously waiting. Talk to you soon.” _

“Bye,” she said, hanging up. She turned her attention back to the museum, reading a book while the steps were empty, and waited.

By the end of the day, she was certain she was 96% coffee. She felt jittery on the ride back to her hotel, but she had a long soak in her bath planned to combat the ache from sitting on wrought iron chairs all day.

Stepping into the hotel room, she saw that her room phone was blinking, indicating a message. She sighed, listening to it as she filled up the bathtub.

_ “Ms. Lance, this is Detective Hunter. I just wanted to check in with you, see how things are going, or if you’ve found anything. Please call back. My number is-” _

Sara hung up and called him back from the room phone. It rang three times before he picked up.

_ “Hello?”  _ Rip said, his voice ragged.

“Detective Hunter? This is Dr. Lance.”

_ “Right, yes. Hello. How are you?” _

“Fine. I have nothing to report so far. I went to the museum and none of the paintings on display were fakes.”

_ “Good. Good, that’s wonderful. So what’s your next step?” _

“Do you know of any people in the area who might collect Baroque art?” Sara asked.

_ “There are a few collectors, but I don’t know what they specialize in. Dr. Harrison Wells is a big one. Zari Tomaz has a smaller collection, but she’s gained popularity in the community.” _

“Do you have any way to contact them?” Sara asked.

_ “Wells runs the children’s hospital foundation, so his email is everywhere, but Tomaz doesn’t have much of an online presence. I can look into getting you her number.” _

“Thanks.”

_ “Yeah.”  _ Rip went quiet for a moment and Sara waited. _ “Are you enjoying your time here?”  _ he asked.

“Sure.”

_ “I was wondering, if you’d perhaps like to get a drink, somewhere off of Bourbon Street? We can discuss the work more and maybe we can-” _

Sara cut him off, as gently as she could while still being firm. “I’m sorry, I’m really only here on business.”

_ “Of course. Yes. Then, goodnight, Ms. Lance.” _

She rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Detective Hunter.”

Looking longingly into her almost full bath, Sara pulled up her work email on her laptop and searched up Wells’s information. Then she sent him an email about writing an article on Baroque art and asked if he had any she could view, or know of anyone with some, ending with the beautiful CC Museum of Art’s logo at the bottom of her signature. Rip was right in that she couldn’t find anything on this Zari Tomaz, but maybe he’d come through for her.

Finally, blissfully, she was able to sink into her bath and not think about art, forgeries, or cops for three seconds.

* * *

The next day began much the same, though Sara ordered some tea after her first coffee. The museum was relatively quiet and she had finished her book. Reluctantly, she pulled out the article she still was trying to finish editing, and attempted to get it done, but not three minutes in, her email pinged.

Sara opened it up, seeing a response from Dr. Wells’s secretary. He wasn’t a collector of Baroque, though she was more than welcome to come and view them. Most of them were located in his foundation’s building. But the last few lines were what interested her more.

**_Ms. Tomaz has no interest in Baroque, focusing almost exclusively on the Mughal Empire, and though she is difficult to find, Dr. Wells would be happy to help you arrange a meeting. The only other collector he is aware of is Mr. Damien Darhk. Mr. Darhk is a figurehead in the city, having been mayor several years ago. Mr. Wells doesn’t know what Mr. Darhk’s focus is, as he’s collected pieces from every era._ **

Below that was an email for Damien Darhk. Sara immediately copied the same email she’d sent to Wells originally and sent it to Darhk. Whittling down the collectors made it all the more likely that it was Malcolm, and she enjoyed crossing names off her nonexistent list.

Since she was on her phone already, she called Ray to check in with him and let him babble on for a good fifteen minutes about the recent news from the museum. She didn’t speak much about her lack of progress here. All too quickly, Ray had to go and Sara was free to do her work.

Instead, she stared aimlessly at the museum, sipping her tea, and watching people walk in and out. Some time later, she checked her phone and saw she had an email.

**_Ms. Lance,_ **

**_It would be my honor to show the work I’ve collected. However, as I’m not in the practice of inviting complete strangers to my home, I propose we first meet for coffee tomorrow at 1 P.M. I’ve given you several suggestions below. Please let me know what is most convenient for you._ **

**_Looking forward to meeting you,_ **

**_Damien Darhk_ **

Sara pulled up the options and chose the one that was a middling distance from her hotel, with a polite response for tomorrow at one.

She stayed the rest of the day at the cafe, once again getting nothing of value. Instead of going back to her hotel, she had the taxi drop her at a nearby bar, and listened to jazz throughout the night, sipping Sazeracs in the corner and warning off everyone looking to talk to her with a glare and a book in her hand.

Part of her might have wished for someone to try to chat her up, to take her mind off things, but with strangers already leaving notes in her room, she didn’t want to take the chance.

* * *

The next morning, Sara opted for her usual work clothes. She still went to the cafe by the museum, giving them a large tip for taking up their table for so long, before heading to her meeting with Darhk.

All the cafes Darhk had given her were more upscale than the ones she would have chosen. So it was no surprise at all when a town car pulled up and a finely dressed, older man walked in and unerringly came over to sit by her.

“Ms. Lance, I presume?” he said, smiling endearingly.

Sara stood and shook his hand. “Mr. Darhk. A pleasure to meet you.”

His hair was white, but the lines on his face were few and far between, so guessing his age was difficult. He was definitely charming and social, talking with the waiter like they were old friends, and having a usual order that he didn’t need to specify. It was no surprise that he had been mayor at some point. 

As business meetings went, and she was very much giving off the impression that this was business only, it seemed to go well. He asked her questions about her work at the museum, the pale blue eyes a bit off-putting, but nothing she couldn’t handle. He definitely knew his art; his questions about style and palettes were too specific for him to be a casual collector. He even referenced a few of her articles with obvious enthusiasm and understanding. When Sara mentioned wanting to see his collection of Baroque art, he let out a small sigh and put his cappuccino down.

“Ah, and so you see my flaws. I, unfortunately, do not collect much Baroque art. I do have a beautiful piece by Alonso Cano, but that is it,” he said. “I’ve been trying to rectify that, but Baroques are so popular.”

Sara smiled, though she was inwardly disappointed. There weren’t any Cano’s on West’s list. “I understand.”

“Still,” he continued, “I would be honored if you joined me for dinner tonight, to look at the Cano and any other pieces. It’s so rare that I can converse with someone who actually knows what they’re talking about, and even more rare that I have someone over who appreciates true artistic talent.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sara said, the invitation unexpected despite her questions earlier. “But I don’t want to impose-”

“No imposition at all! I’m having a few associates over this evening, and another guest would round out the party nicely,” he said, his hands resting on his side of the table. He hadn’t been at all flirtatious with her, just appropriately friendly, and that was almost motivation enough for her to say yes. To talk with someone who actually appreciated her intelligence was a difficult find.

“That’s very generous, Mr. Darhk, but it’s really not necessary.”

“Please, it’s Damien. And your attendance would not only increase the average intelligence in the room but keep me from losing my temper with them. My financial advisor alone can send my heart rate into dangerous territory, and he’ll be there with a few of my coworkers. If it weren’t absolutely necessary, I’d avoid this at all costs.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Having you there would give me an excuse to leave early.”

Sara smiled, ducking her head and having to admit that he was excellent with the flattery. Besides, she didn’t have plans and she’d tried to refuse twice. By all social conventions, she was in safe territory.

“Then I would be honored,” she said with another smile.

“Wonderful!” he said, grinning. “I’ll have a car sent to your hotel to pick you up at five-thirty. I live just on the edge of the city. Where are you staying?”

Sara gave him the name of the hotel and Damien noted it on his phone. Lifting his mug, he clinked it against her gently.

“To enjoyable company,” he said.

“To enjoyable company,” she repeated.

* * *

When Sara got back to her hotel room, she dug through her suitcase in a bit of a hurry, trying to find something appropriate for...walking around some guy’s house while he had business associates over? Work dinner? No idea.

Near the bottom, she saw a navy blue dress that still had a tag on it, obviously one of Ray’s contributions. It had a scoop neck and cap sleeves, but tight enough to be more formal. She’d bought it for a date that had never happened because the guy had gotten too scared after their coffee date when Sara was able to talk circles around him. At least it would go to good use now.

She showered, cursing the humidity once more, and sent a text to Ray, letting him know what she was up to. She didn’t bother contacting Rip or West yet. She had no new information for them. As her hair dried, she got together a small purse in which she put her wallet, phone, and lipstick. She left her hair down, letting it dry into her natural waves, and grabbed her black heels that were just a touch too high for work. At a quarter after five, she made her way downstairs, forgoing a wrap or jacket.

The town car arrived right at five-thirty and whisked her to the edge of New Orleans proper. It was less like a regular town car, and more like a shortened limo, with a seat turned around to face the back and a small bar in the side, along with a barrier between the passengers and the driver. She made sure to watch street names, so she had a general idea of where she was. The houses got larger, with more space between them, and separated by high walls. The car drove her through a tall gated fence with a guard at the gatehouse, who waved them through.

The driveway was long, large willows on either side of it hiding the house from the view of the street. The house itself was a restored plantation home, with striking white paint and dark blue doors. A porch wrapped around the entire front of the facade and a balcony stretched across the entire second floor, marked with a matching blue railing. Large pillars supported the roof, which was punctuated with enough windows to suggest a third floor. Flowers stood in every window, illuminated by a glow from inside. It was gorgeous.

The driver stopped the car and opened Sara’s door for her, allowing her a moment to take in the view again. Crickets sang in the growing darkness and fireflies wound their way through the sagging branches of the trees. Sara’s heels echoed dully off of the flagstones that led the way to the front door, and she stepped up onto the small ledge of the foundation, knocking on the front door.

The door opened a breath later, revealing a man in a suit, who greeted her by name.

“Ms. Lance, welcome. Please come in.” He inclined his head as if he were a butler, and Sara belatedly realized that he probably was.

She thanked him and stepped inside, the faint sound of music echoing from a room to the left. A huge sweeping staircase led to the second floor, a balcony up there opening up to the main foyer. The floors were polished hardwood and the butler’s shining shoes clacked against them as he said, “Please, follow me.”

He led the way to the double doors where the music was coming from, opening them to more fully let out the sound. It was a lavish sitting room, lined with full bookshelves and overstuffed smoking chairs. There were three men there, dressed in suits. Damien Darhk was in one of the chairs, but he stood as Sara entered.

“Ms. Lance!” he said, coming over to shake her hand. “I’m so very pleased. You’ve arrived not a moment too soon,” he added quietly, with a grin. “My advisor is already insufferable.”

“Thank you again for the invitation,” Sara said, pleased she’d dressed up as she saw him in an even nicer suit than before.

“It’s I who should be thanking you,” Damien assured her, before gesturing towards one of the two other men in the room. “This is my old friend and head of security, Eobard Thawne. Eobard, this is Sara Lance from Central City.”

Eobard was another older man, who looked far more like a typical government official than security. His milquetoast haircut and overly large mouth were unimpressive, and his hazel eyes performed the all too familiar once-over on her. She gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he was looking for weapons of some kind.

“Pleasure,” Sara said, shaking his hand.

“All mine,” Eobard returned, the smile bland.

The other man stood, and Sara was startled to see Malcolm Merlyn. “Mr. Merlyn,” she greeted, with a slightly more rueful smile, “I’ve been meaning to come back by the museum.”

“Oh, you know each other?” Damien said, smiling.

Malcolm inclined his head. “We met at the museum, while she was examining some Baroques. Though,” he added, meeting her eyes, “I thought you had returned home.”

Sara laughed, as if she were a little embarrassed, “Well, I spoke to my boss about extending my work trip, it being so close to Mardi Gras and all. He wasn’t able to confirm it until the day after we met.”

Malcolm’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What a wonderful coincidence, running into one another again.”

“Indeed,” Sara said, making sure her expression gave away nothing. If anyone screamed guilty, it was Merlyn. No one else could be so obviously up to something-

The door creaked open, and Damien sighed. “Ah, and here’s the best and worst part of the evening, my financial advisor.”

“I’m hurt, Damien,” a voice said.

Sara turned, a touch of familiarity in that voice that managed to draw her attention away from Merlyn. The man that had come from another door was wearing a dark blue suit that looked just as expensive as Damien’s, and fit him better than Merlyn’s did. His short dark hair was dusted with grey, and the cerulean eyes were warmer and filled with more humor than Eobard’s. Sara looked up into the face of the asshole from Central City - Leonard Smith.

Who, now that she was thinking about it, spent a little too much time with a Baroque painting he seemed to know an awful lot about. The same painting West had in his office.

“And to think I went out of my way not only to make sure I could make it to town for the holiday, but bring you good news,” he continued, that low drawl unforgettable. His eyes darted over Sara’s face, no sign that he recognized her.

Damien laughed, “That is true. Leonard, this is Sara Lance, from the Central City Museum of Art. Sara, meet Leonard Wynters. A man too smart for his own good.”

“But just smart enough for yours,” Leonard said, taking Sara’s hand with a perfectly neutral tone. “Nice to meet you.” 

Though his expression remained just polite enough, Sara felt him squeeze her fingers a little too tightly. So he did recognize her. Sara squeezed back, a little harder.

“And you, Mr. Wynters.”

There was the faintest hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth before he let go, flexing his hand and looking at Damien. “We do really need to finish going over the quarterly report.”

“We have all week. No business before dinner,” Damien announced. “And with that, shall we?” He led the way through the door Leonard had come out of, and Sara caught a glimpse of an ivory tablecloth and silver place settings before she stepped to the side, allowing Merlyn and Thawne to go first.

She met Leonard’s eyes, letting her brow arch just a touch.

“After you, Dr. Lance,” he said, the emphasis on her title, the smirk very obvious as he let the ruse slide for a moment.

Sara went into the dining room, one suspect ahead of her and a far more likely suspect behind her.

Well, at least this would be interesting.


	4. Congregation Leaving the Reformed Church in Nuenen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Congregation Leaving the Reformed Church at Nuenen is an early painting by Vincent van Gogh, made in early 1884 and modified in late 1885. It is displayed at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Congregation_Leaving_the_Reformed_Church_in_Nuenen

The food was excellent. Since Damien discussed work with Thawne and Leonard for a while, and Merlyn was caddy corner to her, it made conversation a little difficult. He did ask a few questions about the last few days, which Sara glossed over as having been doing typical touristy things. The fish was fresh and deliciously spiced, with just enough heat to make it interesting. The wine Damien provided was tasty, without overpowering the fish. 

However, Sara didn’t lose the opportunity to observe the suspects in the room. Damien was at the head of the table, Thawne on his left and Merlyn on his right. Sara was next to Thawne, with Leonard across from her. He barely looked at her during the first few courses, and other than a few passing comments, Sara didn’t participate much in the conversation until the main course was cleared away.

“So,” Damien said, sitting back in his seat with a pleased sigh. “Tell us about yourself, Ms. Lance.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” Sara replied, putting her wineglass down. “I grew up in Star City. I did my undergraduate studies in Star City University and the University of Metropolis, then my doctoral work in Central City. I went to a few of the smaller museums before being offered the position at Central City Museum of Art, where I’ve been for a few years now.”

“What did you think of Metropolis?” Merlyn asked.

Sara kept the smile on her face, though her stomach pitted a little. “It was a great experience. I only spent one year there, though, and most of that was taken up by school and internships.”

“Why just one year?” Damien pressed.

Sara’s smile felt brittle, but she kept it in place. “I had done most of the coursework at SCU, but I transferred due to a personal reason to finish up.”

“What happened?” Thawne asked, sounding suspicious.

She took a sip of her wine, knowing it was fruitless to lie, and doing so would only make her look more suspicious to Merlyn. The whole story was on the internet; it would just take a quick search to find it. Still, she didn’t enjoy trotting out this one.

“At the end of my junior year, I got into an altercation with several students in my year, one of whom happened to be Dean Mayhew’s nephew. They apparently weren’t used to people saying no to them.” Sara raised her eyes to Damien’s, not ashamed of the fact that she did it, but hating the pity that usually accompanied it. “Though it was obvious they had started it, I agreed to transfer at the dean’s request.”

Damien’s mouth twisted, and Sara took another sip of her wine, a little larger than before. “Well, may I just say, that I am so very sorry to hear that, Ms. Lance and-”

“Doctor,” Leonard interrupted, his smile polite.

Damien broke off and looked at Leonard. “Pardon me?”

Leonard arched a brow. “She’s Dr. Lance, is she not? Not “miss.””

With a tense pause, Damien nodded. “Yes, of course. My apologies.”

“Not necessary,” Sara replied, glancing at Leonard.

“What was your thesis on?” Leonard asked.

Sara spouted off the layman’s version of her thesis, answering Merlyn’s questions. By the time she finished, the earlier conversation was forgotten and the group moved on to other topics before the bread pudding with rum sauce was deposited on the table.

As they began to finish up, Damien looked at Sara. “I have some business to discuss with Thawne and Merlyn, but Mr. Wynters is familiar enough with the house to show you the different pieces.” Damien glanced at Leonard, a faint smile on his face. “Maybe you’ll succeed where I failed, and educate him on the benefits of art.”

“Not a fan of art, Mr. Wynters?” Sara asked, some concentration required not to sound sarcastic.

“Only as an investment,” he said, without hesitation. He wiped his mouth and pushed away from the table. “Shall we?”

Sara scooted away from the table and followed him. Leonard led her unerringly up to the second floor, the balcony of which was lined by beautiful art. Despite her desire to actually look at the art, she found herself distracted.

Although Leonard wasn’t looking at her, she felt the full brunt of his attention. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it without blowing his cover, which she wasn’t certain he deserved. But the segway from dinner was still fresh in her mind, so she remained quiet.

“Long way from Central City,” he observed.

Sara nodded. “Ever been there?”

He glanced at her, a small smirk appearing. “A few times.”

Looking at the painting, Sara was unsurprised to see that it was an original, but it wasn’t one on West’s list and it was a painting that had been in the public’s hands for years already. She moved onto the next one, glancing at Leonard again. “How long have you been working with Mr. Darhk?”

“I’ve been his investor for five years. But I’m only in town for a short while.”

“Staying here?”

“At Damien’s insistence.”

This painting wasn’t original, which was odd. Leonard seemed to be watching her, so she didn’t say anything about it. The next one wasn’t a Baroque, so she focused more on the conversation as she stared at it. “Any of your friends visited Central City recently?”

The smile faded. “No friends. An acquaintance or two.”

“And was their visit...successful?”

“Decidedly not.” His voice dropped, though they weren’t anywhere close to loud. “You ask a lot of questions, Dr. Lance. It would be easy to assume that you aren’t just here for your article.”

“I’ve been to the museum and asked to see more art. Hardly unusual.”

“So you typically spend days at the same cafe, watching museums?” he asked, his eyes on the painting that neither of them was paying attention to.

“Soaking up the ambiance,” Sara countered.

“Of course. And making interesting new friends.”

“You’re not a friend.”

“Wasn’t talking about me.”

They walked to the other side of the staircase, still looking at the pieces. Sara could already tell that none of these were what she was looking for. Still, she wasn’t inclined to return downstairs just yet. Besides, two of them weren’t originals. Why were they displayed here, then?

“I’m well aware I don’t have friends here,” she continued quietly.

“Good, then you’re not entirely dense.”

Sara frowned at him, but he showed no change in expression. She continued her glare, and eventually he scoffed, glancing down at the still-closed doors of the downstairs rooms.

“You won’t find what you’re looking for here. He’s not that dense, either,” he murmured, turning his eyes on the painting once more.

Sara wasn’t surprised. Damien was not only a politician, but someone everyone seemed to like. She didn’t trust a politician that everyone liked; that meant they were lying to somebody. Add to that his intimacy with Malcolm Merlyn and his connection with Leonard Wynters/Smith, and it was obvious that Damien had to have a hand in this.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to extend my invitation.”

Leonard paused and looked directly at her. “That would be a very bad idea.”

“If only you were a friend I would take the advice of,” Sara said with a sharp smile, meeting his eyes.

He chuckled, though it was a short sound. “If only.”

Making their way towards the stairs, Sara paused, seeing a Van Gogh on the wall. It was a copy, but one of Van Gogh’s lesser-known works. A small church, with figures walking away from it, beneath a cloudy sky. Sara couldn’t help the melancholy feeling that filled her at the sight of the painting. As much as she appreciated  _ Starry Night _ , this one was special in its own way.

Next to her, Leonard paused, seeming to contemplate the painting as well. She was surprised as Leonard quietly recited, “‘They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they’ll listen now.’”

Sara was unable to help her smile, recognizing the song, and quoted part of the chorus. “‘I could have told you, Vincent. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.’”

He glanced down at her in surprise, his brow arching. After a moment, he gave her a small nod and turned away.

They made their way back downstairs to the room, Leonard knocking twice before entering. The three men were arranged around the room, glasses of amber liquid in hand. Damien immediately asked Sara for her thoughts on his art, and she was able to go on for some time. Grad school had taught her a lot of things, and being able to talk about a single piece of art for a half hour was one of them.

Partway through her narrative, Leonard went to the sidebar to get a drink, catching her eye, and raising the decanter. Sara nodded and he brought over a glass to where she sat on the couch, retreating to sit on a wingback chair in the corner.

The next hour or so were spent talking about art, and Merlyn’s experiences in his museum compared to Sara’s in hers. With so much time, Sara now noticed how Merlyn continuously talked over her or attempted to correct her. Not a fan of that, Sara just let herself talk louder as he attempted to interrupt, and constantly poked holes in his argument. Damien laughed a few times, and Thawne and Leonard were both smiling, the latter doing a bit better job at hiding it.

However, in the next 90 minutes, Sara began to feel ill. Her stomach was turning and she felt a thin sheen of sweat starting on her forehead. 

“Well, Ms. Lance,” Damien said, “your company has been a light in an otherwise dull evening.”

“Thank you for getting me out of my hotel,” she responded, swallowing against the bile in her throat. “It’s lovely, but I feel the area is more focused on tourists rather than actual history.”

“You leave after Mardi Gras?” he asked.

Sara nodded, not entirely trusting herself to speak.

“Well, I would hate to sound presumptuous,” Damien began, “but I’d hate for you to remember your trip to New Orleans as nothing more than a tourist trap. You could stay here, and I’d make sure that you saw all the wonderful things this city has to offer. And this house does have an excellent view of the Mardi Gras parade. I’m already entertaining Mr. Wynters.” He smiled. “What do you say?”

For the briefest moment, Sara saw Leonard’s surprised expression and rejoiced in surprising that asshole.

She didn’t have enough time to enjoy it though, as her stomach turned again. She managed to choke out, “Excuse me-” as she got up and bolted toward the door, heading to the bathroom she’d been directed to earlier in the evening.

She vomited for what felt like a full thirty seconds, hating every moment. When she was able to breathe, the nausea hadn’t faded, and now she started feeling a little dizzy. She rinsed her face, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes as she tried to focus.

There was a knock on the door, and Sara was inclined to ignore it. Especially when she heard a voice come through.

“How’s it going in there, Doc?” Leonard called, humor obvious in his voice.

She lurched towards the door, unlocking it and glaring at the man outside. “What did you do?” she tried to say, but it came out garbled.

He smiled, unrepentant. “Well, since you wouldn’t take my advice.”

Leonard walked away from her, the expression changing immediately from humor to faint concern as he went back towards the room, Damien coming out and seeing Sara hanging onto the doorframe.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I think she had something that disagreed with her,” Leonard explained. “If you want to bring the car around, I’ll make sure she gets back to her hotel. That way, you can finish your business. We can always talk tomorrow”

Damien frowned, his eyes darting between Sara and Leonard. “Are you sure you want to go back? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable here?”

Sara dreaded what Leonard might put in her drink if she stayed, so she just shook her head. “My stuff is at the hotel,” she managed to say.

“If you’re certain,” Damien said, gesturing to his butler to call the car. He retrieved Sara’s purse from the room, handing it over to her as she passed him, barely managing to stay upright, but damned if she was going to ask for help.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said as Damien walked down with her and Leonard to the car. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“No need. Take care of yourself.” He opened the car door as Leonard got in on the other side, and shut it behind her.

The car began to pull away, the barrier up between them and the driver, and Sara wasted no time jamming her heel into Leonard’s leg.

He winced and rubbed his shin. “What was that for?”

Sara glared at him, still feeling sick. “Asshole.”

“I’ve got enough going on here, I don’t need you butting in,” he said, turning his eyes to the windows.

She flexed her legs again and Leonard hastily pulled his legs out of reach. Sara smiled, baring her teeth at him. “I hope I throw up on you.”

With a scoff, he said, “There shouldn’t be more nausea. And you’ll be fine in the morning. No worse for the wear.”

“Thanks so much.”

She tried to focus on the conversation, but her head continued to swim and her vision went blurry. Pressing her nails into her palms, she tried to stay aware, but found herself drifting in and out of consciousness.

The car door opened, and she nearly fell out of the side, having slumped against it. Leonard caught her arm, pulling her up not so gently. Her legs were weak and her knees gave the second she stepped onto the ground. With a huff of frustration, Leonard put his arm under her knees and lifted her up in his arms.

“Oh, ‘m sorry,” she mumbled, “is this inconvenient for you?”

He hefted her higher, and her arms went around his neck in sheer self-preservation. Her head rolled against his shoulder, the scent of some sort of cologne, probably expensive, getting rid of the smell of the liquor off of Bourbon Street.

Leonard carried her over to the elevator, tossing a comment at the curious attendant at the front desk. “Tourists.”

Her eyes kept sliding shut, and she could feel unconsciousness pulling at her. Pressing her face into his neck, Sara tried to focus on the sharp fold of his collar, or the rub of the five o’clock shadow against her hair, anything to keep her awake.

Misinterpreting that, of course, Leonard spoke up when the elevator doors shut behind them. “You’re much more agreeable when you’re not talking.”

“Why talk to you?” she muttered, taking a deep breath and finding a little more clarity. “You’ll just lie.”

“Save a few inconsequentials, I haven’t exactly lied to you.” The elevator dinged on her floor, and he stepped out, confidently heading towards her room.

“You have multiple last names?”

His chuckle was low and Sara pressed a little closer, wishing he wasn’t such a raging asshole because she loved the tenor of his voice and the smell of his skin…

“My first name really is Leonard.”

She gathered a bit of dignity. “Obviously. Who would choose to be ‘Leonard’?”

He lowered her legs unexpectedly, and Sara had to catch herself against him. His smile was still in place as he looked down at her, one arm around her waist as the other hand trailed down her arm slowly. Her breath caught, and Leonard’s eyes darted towards her mouth for a moment-

Then he opened her purse and grabbed her keycard, the smile widening as she glared at him. He unlocked her room (and how he knew which room was hers was unclear) then swept her back up in his arms to carry her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them.

All but tossing her onto the bed, Leonard seemed to have no inclination to leave at the moment. Sara kicked off her shoes, clumsily pulling herself into the bed and beneath the sheets. He pulled the comforter up and left her purse and keycard on the nightstand.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, Sara could feel whatever reserve energy that had gotten her here conscious fading. She wasn’t going to last long now, but she knew Leonard wasn’t going to try anything.

“I’m not going to thank you,” she muttered.

He laughed quietly. “Didn’t think you would.”

She heard him rummaging at the desk, too tired to call him out on it. Next thing she knew, he was at the door again, the lights in her room off and the only glow coming from the perpetual party outside her curtained windows.

“You should get out of town as soon as possible,” he told her, his tone a lot quieter.

“Can’t.”

“Sure you can.” She could barely see him in the darkness, his eyes nothing more than a faint glimmer in the shadows.

“Have to find the paintings.”

“Why?”

“Who else’ll save them?”

Another low laugh, this one somehow softer. “Goodnight, Doc.”

She tried to say the same, but between thinking the words and them leaving her lips, she lost the battle and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Van Gogh painting they stopped at was Congregation Leaving the Reformed Church in Nuenen.  
> The song they recited was part of "Vincent," by Don McLean.


	5. Morning Glories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winslow Homer, Morning Glories (1873) he only painted women early in his career. Later his paintings became bleaker & fewer people, & no women or children.  
> https://arthur.io/art/winslow-homer/morning-glories?crtr=1

Sara didn’t wake up to her alarm, but to a knocking on the door and a voice calling, “Housekeeping!”

She rubbed her eyes, her head still feeling a little too heavy, and called out as politely as she could. “Can you come back later?”

“Of course. My apologies.”

The sound of cart began to trundle away and Sara rolled over, but her hand hit a piece of folded paper. She opened it up and deciphered it through her half-closed eyes.

> **_Doc,_ **
> 
> **_No hard feelings, right? After all, we’re not friends, so you won’t take my advice. I had to resort to more drastic measures._ **
> 
> **_As much as it pains me, I hope you go home and I don’t see you anytime soon. It’s probably too much to ask._ **
> 
> **_Stay out of trouble. I know it’s difficult for you._ **
> 
> **_Leonard_ **

Sara rolled her eyes and crumpled the paper, rolling onto the other side to toss it into the trash. At least that answered one of her thousand questions - the handwriting was definitely the same as the first note. Though, it didn’t tell her how he had gotten into her room the first time. Or how he knew she was here. Or why she was here.

Her mind running now, pushing back the haze, she gave up on sleep and went for a hot shower instead, gratefully peeling off her dress. She stayed there until her skin was pink and steam enveloped the bathroom. 

By the time she came out, she had a plan. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan. She got dressed in one of her more casual dresses, grabbed her wallet, key card, and her computer.

Getting a table at the little bistro downstairs, Sara ordered a coffee, large enough to get rid of the last of the headache. Then she opened up her laptop and looked up the county assessor’s website for New Orleans. Accepting the terms and conditions, she searched up Damien Darhk’s last name and pulled up every property owned by him. She wrote down every address and, for thoroughness, she also looked up Thawne, Merlyn, and, after a brief hesitation, Wynters. Smith came back with over a thousand results, and she doubted that Leonard was as involved. He seemed to know more about what was going on, but she’d seen the tension between him and Merlyn, and he hadn’t been involved in any discussions between the three of them.

Weird, that the one she trusted the most was the one who drugged her and noticeably lied. She couldn't even justify why she trusted him, just that there was something about him that was different than the others. He wasn't good, that was for sure, but there was a definite difference between him and someone like Thawne. 

After writing down the ten addresses between the four of them, Sara started looking them up as she ate a late breakfast. The bustle of the street outside was only somewhat diminished in the early afternoon, but she found some comfort in the noise.

Malcolm and Thawne only had one address apiece. Merlyn had a small house, and Thawne an apartment on the edge of town. She doubted those would be it. Leonard Wynters had nothing in town. 

Damien had six. Two were office buildings which, as she Googled them, were still active campaign centers for people Damien supported. Three were homes, one of which she was at the other night. Another was an apartment right by the larger office building. The third appeared to be a rental, occupied by some higher up family from Gotham. The final address was promising, though. An entire storage center.

Textbook suspicious. Sara wrote down the directions there and closed her laptop. She paid her bill and went upstairs, planning on dropping off her computer and grabbing a few more things before heading out, but her phone rang.

She glanced at the display and gave up on the idea of leaving immediately. “Hey, Ray.”

_ “Any updates?” _ Ray asked.

“Actually, yes.” She sat on the edge of the freshly made bed, and filled Ray in on everything, from Leonard Wynters being Leonard Smith, her suspicions of Damien, getting drugged, her discovery of the addresses, and her plan.

When she finished, Ray was silent. She could hear him breathing, but he didn’t say anything. 

“You okay, there?” she asked.

_ “Wait.” _ He took a deep breath.  _ “You’re telling me that Mr. Smith from the museum and Mr. Wynters are the same person?” _

“Yeah, but-”

_ “And that he was the one who left you that note?” _

“The one threatening me, yeah.”

_ “And that he carried you to your room?” _

Sara frowned at the phone. “Because he _drugged_ me and I couldn't walk. I don’t think you’re striking the right tone here.”

_ “But it was to protect you!” _

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

_ “Sara!” _ he shouted, and she could envision him right now, on both feet, that stupid wide smile on his face.  _ “This is your whirlwind New Orleans romance story!” _

“With the liar who drugged me and broke into my hotel room,” Sara specified.

_ “With the conman with a heart of gold, who’s trying to rescue the damsel in...well, I wouldn’t say distress, because I know what you can do, but the damsel in danger!” _

“He’s involved in all of this.”

_ “But he’s trying to keep you out of it! He risked his cover by protecting you, leaving you coded messages!” _

Sara scoffed, “No, he risked his cover to get me out of the way because I knew too much.”

_ “Agree to disagree,”  _ Ray said primly.  _ “You’ll see I’m right. I’m never wrong about these kinds of things.” _

“Sure, Ray,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve gotta get going.”

_ “Wait, you’re going to the storage center?” _

“Yeah. I need to confirm that’s where the forger does their work, or at least where he’s storing them.”

_ “But...you’re going alone?” _

“Ray.”

_ “I know! I know! But you need to tell someone. If you’re right, and I’m sure you are,” _ he said quickly, as Sara drew in a breath to contradict him. _ “But if you are, it makes sense that Darhk may have something in place to keep that building safe. And if he’s as rich as you say he is, money can keep a lot of things quiet. _ ”

“You think he’ll kill me?”

_ “Someone’s willing to kill to keep this quiet,” _ Ray reminded her.  _ “It might be him.” _

“So what do you suggest?” Sara asked. Immediately, she added, “Not Leonard.”

_ “Oh, you call him Leonard?” _

“Focus, Ray.”

_ “Fine,” _ he huffed.  _ “What about West’s cop friend?” _

“Hunter?” Sara said. “He’s useless.”

_ “Well, he has jurisdiction and a gun, so maybe not completely useless.” _

“I don’t know,” she hedged.

_ “Sara. As your boss, I’m telling you that you need backup. And someone who can protect you is good. Besides, West vouches for him.” _

Sara had to admit he had a point. Still, she hesitated.

Ray must have sensed it because he added. “ _ It would make me feel better if you had someone with you.” _

“Fine,” Sara gave in. “Fine. I’ll call him.”

_ “Leonard?” _ Ray sing-songed.

“No,” Sara said. “The cop.”

_ “I guess that’ll have to do.” _

Sara laughed, hearing Ray do the same, but he went quiet quicker than usual.

_ “Be careful, Sara.” _

“I will.”

They said goodbye and hung up, and Sara heaved a quick sigh. She glanced once more at Leonard’s note and flipped it over. There wasn’t a phone number, so it’s not like she had a choice. Not that she was seriously considering him. Not really. She dialed Rip’s number from her cell phone and waited.

He picked up after a few rings and answered tiredly,  _ “Detective Hunter.” _

“Hi. It’s Sara Lance.”

_ “Oh, Ms. Lance!” _ he said, his tone changing.  _ “It’s good to hear from you.” _

“Yeah, so I may have a lead.” Once again, she filled in Rip on some of the details of her discoveries. And though she mentioned Mr. Wynters, Sara didn’t tell him about that being the same man she met in Central City, nor did she mention the fact that Leonard seemed to be aware of everything. She definitely didn’t admit that she’d been drugged, either.

She still wasn’t certain why she was covering for Leonard. He was definitely involved, but she didn’t think he was on Darhk’s side. It was just a feeling and one that was probably going to come back to bite her.

_ “Wait,”  _ Rip said,  _ “so you’re saying that you want to go to the storage center because you believe that’s where  _ Damien Darhk  _ is holding the forgeries?” _

“Or the real things, yeah,” Sara said.

_ “And what do you plan on doing when you get there?” _ Rip asked.  _ “What are your intentions?” _

“Try to get inside, see if anything doesn’t add up. Take pictures if there is something there.”

He let out a long, deep sigh.  _ “I get the feeling that if I don’t agree to go with you, you’re going anyway.” _

“That’s likely.”

_ “Alright. I can pick you up at your hotel at...five. I don’t get off until then, and I’d rather not take a police car.” _

That made sense. She didn’t like waiting, but it made sense. “Okay. Five.”

_ “Thank you for trusting me with this.” _

“Sure. See you at five.”

_ “Goodbye.” _

With a bunch of time to herself, Sara decided to finally take a little of her vacation time to actually have a vacation. She went through some of the shops on Bourbon Street, got a tarot reading, and a daytime tour of the cemeteries. She felt an almost constant niggle on the back of her neck like someone was watching her, but she made a point not to look around.

When she got back to her hotel around four, she was waved to the front desk.

“These arrived for you while you were gone,” the desk clerk said.

A massive bouquet of two dozen colorful roses was sitting at the desk. Sara frowned, seeing a card tucked into the stems. She pulled it out, not entirely surprised at the typed words.

> **Ms. Lance,**
> 
> **I hope you are feeling better. My apologies that the end of the evening was more abysmal than the less than stimulating conversation of dinner. I hope you’ll allow me to make it up to you. Call at your earliest convenience.**
> 
> **Damien**

She managed a bitter smile. He was good. He was very good. She tucked the card into her purse. “Thanks, but I don’t need this. Can you make use of it down here?”

“Of course, thank you,” the clerk said. “But you don’t want either of them?”

Sara paused. “Either?”

The clerk pushed forward another...well, it wasn’t a bouquet. It was just a single flower. A beautiful single blue flower with a yellow center, and a card tied to it with a white ribbon. Sara opened the card to reveal the now familiar handwriting of Leonard.

> **_A wreathèd garland of deservèd praise,_ **
> 
> **_Of praise deservèd, unto Thee I give,_ **
> 
> **_I give to Thee, who knowest all my ways,_ **
> 
> **_My crooked winding ways, wherein I live._ **

The smile that spread across her face was unwilling, but she couldn’t stop it. He was the worst. She looked at the clerk. “I’ll keep this one.”

“Very good, miss,” the clerk said, smiling himself.

She went back up to her room, not sniffing the flower until she was alone in the elevator. It was lovely.

Once back in her room, she placed the flower on the nightstand, unable to help but keep glancing at it. It was stupid, and definitely not enough to make up for drugging her, but…

Shaking her head, she took a quick shower to get rid of the humidity for the day and pulled on some more professional looking clothes. At ten til, Sara grabbed her purse and headed downstairs to wait for Rip.

He was five minutes late, but Sara had been anticipating that. As soon as she recognized Rip’s profile in the dark sedan he pulled up in, she hurried out to meet him and slid into the passenger seat.

“Hello,” Rip greeted her with a tired smile.

“Hi,” Sara said.

He pulled away from the curb, heading towards the address Sara had given him earlier. They drove in silence for a few minutes, before Rip spoke.

“What makes you think something will be there?” he asked.

Sara gave him a brief overview of what she’d discovered once again. How she thought Malcolm was the forger, and his close relationship with Damien, who had forgeries in his home. “And this address is owned by Damien. It’d be smart to store the work there if he was planning on selling it.”

“Is that what you think he does?”

Sara hesitated. Selling made the most sense, but it didn’t explain why that man was in Central City with a copy of  _ Judith _ . There was something more to it, but she wasn’t sure. “Maybe.”

“You do know I don’t have a warrant,” Rip reminded her. “I won’t be able to make him show us anything.”

“We don’t need a warrant to ask questions.”

Rip cut his eyes at her, frowning, but Sara didn’t elaborate.

They pulled up to the storage center less than ten minutes later, with Rip offering to show Sara around town no less than three times, which she refused. She got out of the car quickly when they stopped, heading to the front office of the storage center. Large iron fences kept cars from pulling to the outer storage doors and behind the office was a large building, obviously for more climate-controlled spaces.

The bells dinged as she pushed the door open, Rip on her heels. A teenage boy was manning the counter, straightening up when he saw them and pocketing his phone. “Hey. How can I help you today?” he asked.

“Hi,” Sara said, smiling widely. “My husband and I are looking to get a storage space for our more delicate belongings as we move out here permanently. Do you have climate-controlled spaces?”

“We do, yes. All the spaces in the building are controlled.”

“And security?” Rip asked, falling into the ruse with more ease than Sara anticipated.

“We have a 24-hour guard and video monitoring of all the hallways,” Simon, according to his badge, said. “What size space do you need?”

Sara hummed, thinking. “Well, at least a five by ten. But I’m worried about the art.” She looked at Rip. “the humidity here can get so bad, and I don’t trust a fifteen-year collection in a-”

The boy jumped in, eager. “We have a few collections of art here, and the owners have been very happy with the conditions.”

“Oh, really?” Sara said.

Simon nodded. “Yeah.”

Sara chewed her lip. “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Look, I know this is odd, but can we just look at a collection that’s stored here? We won’t touch anything, but I just want to make sure everything will be okay if we keep things here.”

Rip started to say something, but Simon nodded, eager. “Sure. I don’t see why not.” He grabbed a keyring off the hook behind him, checking a chart and selecting one key from it, then gestured for them to follow him back.

Sara stayed right behind Simon, listening to him expound on the other benefits of storing their items here. Rip was next to her, staying quiet.

They got to a larger storage unit and Simon unlocked it, sliding the door up to reveal dozens of paintings on easels. Some were covered, some were more displayed, and Sara looked into Judith’s eyes as she killed Holofernes.

“Does this help?” Simon asked.

Sara nodded, smiling. “Yes. This is perfect. Thank-”

The sound of a hammer being drawn back on a gun stopped her. She turned, seeing Rip behind her and Simon, weapon drawn and aimed at them.

“You really should have taken me up on that drink, Ms. Lance,” Rip said tiredly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonard gave Sara a morning glory, and the poem he wrote was from George Herbert’s, ‘A Wreath’


	6. Surrender of Breda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> La rendición de Breda (English: The Surrender of Breda, also known as Las lanzas – The Lances) is a painting by the Spanish Golden Age painter Diego Velázquez. It was completed during the years 1634–35, inspired by Velázquez's visit to Italy with Ambrogio Spinola, the Genoese-born Spanish general who conquered Breda on June 5, 1625. The painting depicts the exchange of the key of Breda from the Dutch's possession, to the Spanish.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Surrender_of_Breda

Sara raised her hands and narrowed her eyes at Rip. “So much for being a decent cop.” 

Rip shook his head. “You don’t understand what you’ve stumbled into.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

He smiled, but it was a small, sad thing. “I’m sorry.”

Simon shifted beside her, and the gun moved to point at the boy.

“Don’t move,” Rip warned.

Sara glanced at the boy, whose face was pale. His hand was in his pocket, and his eyes darted down the hall.

“Don’t,” Sara whispered.

Simon glanced at her, his chest heaving with nerves. “No!” he shouted, running towards the exit, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he bolted.

“Rip, don’t!” Sara shouted, taking a step forward.

A gunshot rang out, and Simon dropped and slid across the floor, his phone thrown from his hand and shattering across the concrete floor. He didn’t move.

Rip swallowed hard, then turned to Sara, the gun aimed at her. “Please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“Bastard,” Sara whispered, tearing her eyes away from Simon’s form.

“I warned him,” Rip said, his voice low as well.

Sara shook her head, clenching her jaw.

“Hand over your purse,” Rip said, holding out his free hand.

She couldn’t argue, not with him aiming the weapon at her. She slid her purse off her shoulder and passed it over. Without lowering the gun, Rip opened it one-handed, checking the contents. “We should go.”

“Go where?” Sara asked.

He gestured with the gun for her to walk out of the storage center. Sara did, taking a wide berth around Simon’s body. Sara tried to lengthen her strides, but Rip kept up, too close for her to try and run, but too far for her to grab the gun.

As soon as they hit the doors, Sara made a move anyway. She darted to the side and tried to make her way to the closest flood of light from the street. Rip swore behind her and she heard him lunging forward, but no sound of a gun. She feinted to the right, but Rip’s longer legs caught up to her and he grabbed her arm.

Sara threw her elbow back and definitely made contact with Rip’s face. That seemed to break whatever restraint he had, and with the hand holding the gun, he swung out, catching her in the temple. Her vision blurred and her knees went wobbly, but she swung again towards his eye. His empty hand latched onto her arm and he hit her in the stomach, driving the air out of her lungs as he dragged her towards the car. Winded, she felt Rip shove her into the car, through the driver’s side, and over the center console before he got in behind her.

Her vision started to refocus after a few minutes, but as she raised her hand to press at the tacky feeling along the side of her face, Rip tensed.

“Don’t move, Ms. Lance,” he ordered.

Sara glared at him, pleased to see he was bleeding from the lip. “How long have you been Darhk’s lapdog?”

“He owns the town. Everything and everyone. You wouldn’t understand.”

“West trusted you.”

“His mistake,” Rip responded.

There was nothing else to say as they drove to Darhk’s house. Sara didn’t bother asking any more questions. Rip wouldn’t know or feel the need to tell her. Damien would be her best chance at information.

They pulled up to the house, Rip getting out first, the gun still trained on her. He needn’t have worried. They knew where her hotel was, they knew who she was, there was no way she could make it to the gate, and Rip had her phone and money.

She got up, still a little shaky, but ignored Rip’s extended hand and stood under her own power.

Rip jerked his chin towards the door. Sara started forward, holding onto the railing as she climbed up the porch and pushed the door open.

The butler was sitting on a chair nearby the door but attempted to get to his feet as Sara entered. His eyes grew wide as he saw her and Sara merely glared, well aware that she must look awful. Her head ached, and though she still hadn’t touched the wound, she could taste blood at the corner of her mouth. He seemed hesitant, but when Rip entered behind her, gun still out, he sat back in his chair.

It was definitely dinner time, so Sara wasn’t surprised as Rip pushed her to go into the dining room. Lifting her chin slightly, she opened the door.

There was a faint clatter of silverware as Sara and Rip entered. Damien looked surprised, Eobard had dropped his fork, and Leonard turned slightly in his chair to look over his shoulder at the two of them.

“Ms. Lance,” Damien said, putting down his fork and getting to his feet. “To what do we owe this unexpected...surprise?”

Sara smiled tightly, knowing that she was well beyond secrets now. “Apparently Officer Rip had an issue with me going to a storage center.”

Damien blinked, then scoffed, looking amused. “Well, you are much more persistent than I expected.”

“I usually am.”

“Well, since you’re here.” Damien gestured to the seat next to Leonard and Eobard. A waiter (servant?) quickly put two more place settings out, then brought out a plate of some kind of pork and green vegetables.

Sara took the seat next to Leonard, mostly because her legs were shaking and her head pounding, and it was the closest. She drank the water that was placed in front of her but didn’t touch the food.

“Are you not hungry, Ms. Lance?” Damien asked.

Sara lifted her eyes to Rip, keeping the same polite smile she used for condescending professors and sexist deans on her face. “I’m a little off my appetite after watching your guard dog murder a teenage boy.”

“Murder?” Damien asked, turning his eyes to Rip.

His gun now away, both of Rip’s hands were on the table. In the light, Sara was pleased to see that she’d not only made him bleed, but his eye was beginning to swell just a bit as well. She picked up her napkin, dabbing at the blood on her cheek as Rip answered.

“She insisted on going to the storage unit. I went with her, to try and make sure she didn’t discover anything of note.”

“Obviously you failed,” Eobard chimed in, his voice dark.

“She convinced the boy working there to open up one of the units to show her how paintings would do in storage. He, unfortunately, chose yours,” Rip said, lifting his eyes to Damien.

Damien didn’t move, sitting as still as a statue. In the awkward silence, Rip cleared his throat and continued.

“The boy made a run for the door, with his phone. I had to stop him.”

With a long sigh, Damien rubbed his temples with his hand. “Wonderful. I thought having a cop on the payroll would simplify things, not complicate them even more.”

“Mr. Darhk-”

“No,” Damien interrupted, his voice finally raising. “You’ll go to the storage center and clean up your mess. Then you’ll go to Ms. Lance’s hotel room and remove her things. Bring them back here. Make sure no one will come calling.”

Rip nodded.

Damien waited a breath. “ _ Now _ .”

Pushing away from the table, Rip got to his feet and hurried towards the door. In the quiet, Sara heard a car start up and drive away. She could feel Damien’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look up, focusing instead on the stain she was leaving on the white linen napkin.

No one spoke, but out of the corner of her eyes, Sara saw Leonard sipping from his drink, as Eobard’s fork clinked gently against his plate.

“I must admit,” Damien said finally, “I am impressed. How did you find the storage center?”

Sara looked at him, keeping her voice calm even as her stomach lurched slightly, nausea and fear twisting in her gut. “City records. All public access.”

“How resourceful,” he said, sounding anything but impressed. “And what made you suspect me?”

“Merlyn,” Sara said. She’d shared as much with Rip earlier. If she lied now, it would only irritate Damien more in the long run, and she figured she’d last longer if she placated him. “When I visited him in the restoration room, I saw a forgery. I was checking all the collectors in the area, which led me to you. I noticed some of yours were real. Seeing Merlyn here that night was a coincidence, I’ll admit, but one I couldn’t ignore.”

“Some of mine are real?” Damien repeated. “Isn’t it all?”

“Wouldn’t you already know?”

“Indulge me.”

“No.”

The tension almost choked her in the following seconds. The only movement in the room was Leonard lowering his glass to the table. Finally, Damien smiled, nothing kind or friendly about the expression.

“You’re from Central City,” he said. “And I had an unfortunate incident happen there. That’s your connection to this. The cops called you in as an expert. Clever.”

“The cops also referred me to Rip,” Sara said, playing along, “so not all that clever.”

Letting out a belabored sigh, Damien acquiesced with a nod. “Hunter is the bluntest of my instruments. So hard to buy good cops these days.”

Sara kept her mouth shut, though she had many things she wanted to say. Eobard finished eating, and Leonard finished his drink, while Damien very slowly cleared his plate. It was silent save the clink of silverware on china. Eventually, Damien sat back in his chair.

“Well, Ms. Lance, I suppose you’re my guest, after all. Wintergreen will show you to your room.” He waved his hand and Sara heard the door open behind her. “I must request that you do not wander. The grounds are patrolled at night, and they have even less restraint than Officer Hunter. Should you need anything, Wintergreen will fetch it for you.”

Sara got to her feet, still shaking, but she waved off the butler’s - Wintergreen’s - hand and made her way to the door. He opened the door for her, but Sara paused, looking back at Damien.

“Are you going to kill me?” Sara asked, managing to keep her voice steady.

Damien stared at her for a long moment, no sound in the dining room at all. Eobard looked at Damien, but Leonard kept his eyes on his glass.

“I would prefer not to,” Damien said, his gaze hard. “So don’t give me a reason.”

Sara nodded and followed Wintergreen out.

* * *

The room Sara was shown to was beautiful, for a cell. She missed her hotel room with the balcony, but perhaps it was just because it wasn’t owned by a murderer. The bed was king-sized, with white sheets and a downy comforter. There was a small attached bath, with a clawfoot tub and white marble countertops.

It was also on the second floor. Not on the side with the balcony, but on the east side of the house, a sheer drop below to a flagstone courtyard of what appeared to be a garden. An oversized vase stuffed with roses sat on the windowsill.

Wintergreen left her at her door. She waited, but she didn’t hear the sound of the lock. Knowing it was probably useless, but going to kick herself if she didn’t at least try, Sara opened the door and looked out.

Her hallway came off of the second-floor stairs, with four rooms in it, one across from her and two closer to the exit of the hallway. At the end of it, she saw a man standing, arms crossed. She didn’t recognize him, but he turned back at the sound of the door and glared at her.

Sara closed the door and leaned against it, her head pounding. Going into the bathroom, she rinsed her face free of blood, looking like a stand-in for Carrie. She cupped her hands and drank some water, her mouth dry. Her hands were shaking, so it took several scoops before she felt somewhat more human. She couldn’t do anything about the blood that stained her shirt, but she was just glad it was only the one wound, even if head wounds bled like crazy.

There was a knock on her door.

She opened the door, half expecting to see-

“Ms. Lance,” Damien greeted.

Sara didn’t back away, though she wanted to. “Mr. Darhk.”

He held out a small bundle. Sara noted a towel, a set of plaid pajamas, a bottle of aspirin, a comb, an unopened toothbrush, and a travel-size of toothpaste. She took it all, knowing better than to refuse right now.

“To make you feel more comfortable until your things arrive,” he explained.

“Thank you,” she said.

Damien smiled, apparently pleased with her response. “Have a good evening.”

“You too,” Sara answered.

She watched Damien walk down the hallway, speaking with the guard for a moment. It was too low for her to make out what they were saying, but as she watched for a moment, she heard more footsteps approaching as Leonard joined them. As Damien finished his conversation, Leonard walked off with him to another part of the house, answering Sara’s unvoiced question as to if anyone was in the rooms in her hallway.

She shut the door and looked around. There was a small stool in the bathroom, meant for applying makeup. She placed it directly in front of the door. It would stop anyone determined from entering, but it would make enough noise that she’d have another moment to react.

She popped a handful of the aspirin Darhk gave her as she looked around. There wasn’t much that wasn’t heavy furniture or too soft to do much good. She picked up the lamp in the corner, moving it to the nightstand by the bed.

Without any other options at the moment, and the jump down to the ground promising to break her legs, Sara washed up, changed into the pajamas she’d been given, and got into the bed. 

Ray would be worried about her if she didn’t call tomorrow. Even if he exhibited restraint, which he was not known for, he would go to West sooner rather than later. West would contact Rip, who’d have to lie very well not to go against Ray’s information. They’d launch an investigation, and Ray knew she suspected Darhk.

All she had to do was survive a few days here without upsetting Darhk to the point of murdering her.

Piece of cake.


	7. Romeo and Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Romeo and Juliet, painted on a woodblock in monochrome and in reverse in preparation for printmaking, Frank Dicksee depicts the famous balcony scene from Act II, Scene II, when the two lovers profess their love for one another. A drawing of the scene was exhibited in 1881 and declared “a graceful composition of the immortal lovers” by The Magazine of Art.  
> http://www.daheshmuseum.org/portfolio/frank-dickseeromeo-and-juliet/#.XzdoPOhKhPY

It was late, very late, when she heard the sound of something hitting her window. She wasn’t sleeping, too uneasy to relax. She’d been watching out the window from her bed, seeing patrols walking among the grounds. Leaving the lights off, she slid out of bed and around to the edge of the window, trying to look down to see who it was. Something small clattered against her window again, and she sighed, figuring she knew. Sliding the flowerpot to the side, she opened the window.

On the flagstones below her window, she saw Smith/Wynters bouncing a few pebbles in his hand. He was still wearing the suit pants and vest, but his sleeves were rolled up and the jacket was gone, and he seemed more comfortable. In the darkness, it was hard to make out details, but she knew he was already donning that insufferable smirk.

“You’re no John Cusack,” she hissed down at him.

His grin was definitely apparent now, and his low voice reached her ear clearly. “Oh, but, ‘I get so tired of working so hard for our survival, I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive.’”

“What do you want?” Sara asked, leaning her elbows against the sill. “You know there are guards out here, right?”

“I’ve got another four minutes before they come through here again,” he said, dropping the pebbles and brushing his hands off. “Just checking you weren’t so stupid as to try and jump.”

“No, I’m well aware I’ll break my legs.”

“Imagine my shock to hear you have some common sense.”

She scoffed, unable to really disagree with him. Her head still ached, despite taking more medicine a bit ago. “It’s obviously doing me a lot of good.”

He put his hands into his pockets. “Hunter’s a new acquisition. An easy mistake to make.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were trying to make me feel better about being a prisoner,” Sara said.

“That’s me, the eternal optimist.”

Against her better judgment, Sara let out a small laugh. It faded, the movement making her head hurt, and she reached up to press against the bruise, trying to keep her skull from splitting.

“You alright?” he called quietly.

“All things considered, I’m feeling pretty lucky.”

Leonard nodded. “Whatever he’s doing, it’s happening soon. Keep your head down, keep him happy, and watch out for Thawne. You’ve surprised me a few times, so there’s a chance you’ll survive.”

She took the smothered compliment, tucking it away next to the flower he’d given her. “Are you in on all of this? Or is this just about money?”

“Everything’s always about money,” he told her.

Sara waited in silence, hating that she trusted him enough to ask, but not enough to believe he was telling her the truth.

He let out a sigh, glancing alongside the house. “I’m more involved than they know. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“What do you get out of it?”

Leonard looked up at her, the humor gone for a moment. “I’ll get my life back.”

“At the cost of how many others?” she asked, no judgment in her voice.

His smile came back, but it was bitter, and he didn’t answer.

“You should go,” Sara said quietly. “The patrol will be coming soon.”

“Worried about me?”

Sara rolled her eyes, making to push away from the window, but he started up again, his voice a little louder this time as he struck a more dramatic pose.

“‘I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; and but thou love me, let them find me here!’”

“Shut up!” she hissed down at him, her smile tugging at her lips.

“‘My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy-’”

Sara grabbed the flowerpot of roses and pushed it over the edge, cutting off Leonard’s recitation and forcing him to dance back from the shards. It was never going to hit him, maybe just get his shoes dirty. Once safely out of the way, he grinned up at her. “‘O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?’”

He was incorrigible. Sara couldn’t help but answer back, “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.’”

Letting out one small laugh, Leonard walked back along the side of the house and presumably entered. Sara looked at the small clock at her bedside - just after two, meaning she now knew of a small window of time should she need to try and escape later on. She shut the window and got back into bed.

Sleep came a little easier after that.

* * *

Sara woke to a knock on her door. Despite the fact that it wasn’t locked, no one tried to enter. She got to her feet, her head still aching, moved the stool aside, and opened the door just a bit, keeping her foot behind it.

Wintergreen waited patiently outside her door, a familiar suitcase and bag in hand. “Good morning, Ms. Lance.”

“Morning,” she said.

“These arrived for you late last night,” he said, handing over her things. “Mr. Darhk requests, if you are feeling up to it, that you join him for a late breakfast on the porch in twenty minutes.”

Sara forced a smile. “Of course. I’d be delighted.”

“Wonderful. I will inform him you will be down presently.”

Sara shut the door and put the stool in front of it. Quickly, she went through her bags, noting that her laptop and phone were missing. Her article was still there, and her clothes, though not folded the same way. Someone had been through her bag for sure. A quick search of her purse showed that her wallet - ID, credit cards, and what little cash she had on her - was also gone. Not entirely surprised, but still annoyed, Sara showered quickly, keeping a careful ear on the door.

Once she was clean, she had half a thought to go down in her pajamas but decided to take Leonard’s advice. Keep her head down, keep Darhk happy. With that in mind, she chose her clothes carefully. A black and white patterned blouse, with a black skirt, and high heels. She pulled her hair half up, leaving a few strands around her face, and applied her makeup carefully.

Darhk had people killed or killed them himself. Maybe if she presented herself as the constant professional, she’d stand a better chance. He’d definitely appreciate her attention to detail and her attempt at remaining composed. Whether that would be enough was something completely different, but she had to try.

Her proverbial armor in place, Sara picked up her article and left the room nineteen minutes after Wintergreen knocked on her door and headed toward the end of the hallway. The guard was still there, but Sara paid him no mind, her chin high and her eyes forward. He didn’t make any attempt to stop her.

Sara made her way down the grand staircase, the front doors wide open and letting in a comfortably cool breeze. Wintergreen was standing at the open door and nodded upon seeing her.

“Good morning, Ms. Lance,” he said, gesturing for her to step outside.

Just to the left of the doors sat an iron table with three cushioned chairs around it. A carafe of what smelled like coffee was in the center, plates of rolls, fruit, bacon, and eggs finishing the spread. Leonard and Damien were already there, and only one chair was left.

Damien looked up as she came in, and she knew she’d made the right choice as he smiled upon seeing her. “You’re looking much better this morning,” he greeted.

Sara managed a smile, allowing Wintergreen to pull her chair out for her as she sat down to join them. “Thank you.”

“Coffee?” he offered.

“Yes, please,” she said, keeping her work on her lap. She tucked her hair behind her ear, lowering her eyes from Damien as he poured her a cup of coffee. For a while, the three of them ate in silence, as if they were good friends, with nothing more being discussed than the quality of the food and requests for more.

When they were all well into their meal, Sara put her fork down and took a sip of her coffee. “Is Mr. Thawne not joining us?” she asked.

Damien’s expression remained content. “He stays up later and tends to sleep until lunch. For security reasons.”

Sara nodded and sipped her coffee as if she didn’t care at all. She made a point not to meet Leonard’s eyes, not wanting to get him into trouble with Damien.

As they finished their breakfast, Damien let out a sigh, placing his napkin next to his plate. “What are your plans for the day, Mr. Wynters?”

Leonard cleared his throat, placing his coffee cup down. “We have a few more specifics to go over before Wednesday.”

Sara kept her eyes on her cup, grateful Leonard was giving her a date that everything was happening. 

“Of course. And you, Ms. Lance?”

“I find myself with limited distractions, so I’ll be working on my article today.” She put her hand on the papers in her lap.

Damien’s smile grew a little colder. “And here I thought that was just part of your ruse.”

She returned the look. “I never lie about work, Mr. Darhk. I am writing an article on Baroque art.”

With a faint laugh, Damien nodded. “I believe you, astonishingly.”

Sara just smiled, finishing her coffee.

“You will remain here, where I can keep an eye on you,” Damien said. “After the auction has concluded, you will be released, provided you don’t do anything completely asinine. I will be out of town by then.” He put his elbows on the table, leaning forward into her space.

“If you give me the slightest bit of trouble, I will kill you,” he promised. “Don’t think that this will end when you leave town. I know where you live, where you work, where you get your coffee. If you ever speak of this, your death will be nothing more than a tragic accident, and the world will lose a far too clever art historian and forget that you ever existed within a week.”

Sara drew in a slow breath, keeping her eyes on Damien. “Trust me, I’m very interested in remaining alive.”

“Good. Feel free to wander the house. I’ll see you at one in the dining room for lunch. You’ll remain on the grounds.” Damien got to his feet, nodding at Leonard, who got to his feet as well. With one slight icy gaze at her, Damien added, “Attempt to leave and you’ll be shot without warning.”

“Understood,” Sara responded calmly. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

Damien and Leonard vanished into the parlor room she’d met them on the first night, closing the door behind them. Sara took a few turns around the house, looking into the rooms she hadn’t explored on her first visit. The second floor had a few locked doors, though she definitely opened the door that belonged to Leonard - she recognized the suit jacket hanging on the back of the desk chair. On the bottom floor, she found a bathroom, a large pantry, and what looked to be a guest room. There was also a large ballroom, empty easels leaning against one wall. Wintergreen was directing a few of the other servants (but were they paid? She honestly wasn’t sure) atop a ladder as they cleaned the chandelier that hung in the center. A few others were cleaning the floor and washing the windows.

So the auction was going to be held here.

Sara watched as one of the servants was struggling with the older easels. She went over, putting her article and papers on the floor, and helped set the first easel up.

“Oh, thank you, Miss-” the young woman said, but then blanched, “I’m so sorry,  _ Dr _ . Lance.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sara reassured her. “Just Sara is fine. What’s your name?”

The girl shook her head. “Apologies, Dr. Lance, but Mr. Darhk doesn’t like us to speak with his guests.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sara said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” She stepped back and grabbed another easel, setting up another three in silence before the girl spoke again.

“I’m Sin,” the girl said quietly.

Sara smiled and winked. “I won’t tell.”

Sin grinned, ducking her head as her dark hair fell in front of her face. They set up a few more easels before Sara asked, as casually as she could, “How big is this party supposed to be?”

Sin cut her eyes at Wintergreen, before answering quietly. “I only know of ten or so, but I think it’s going to be more.”

“It’s going to get crowded on the second floor,” Sara laughed under her breath.

Sin laughed as well. “Oh, I don’t think they’re staying the night. We aren’t preparing the rooms, just the dining room and the ballroom.”

They finished setting up most of the easels. Sara counted thirteen easels already set up, with just a few left before Wintergreen noticed her involvement.

“Dr. Lance,” he said loudly, drawing the attention of the other workers. They all paused as they looked at her, and Sin very quietly took a few steps away. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No, just looking for a distraction from work,” Sara answered, keeping her smile pleasant.

“We very much appreciate the help, but Mr. Darhk would be disappointed in how you were spending your time.”

“Ah,” she said, gathering up her article. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr. Darhk.”

She didn’t look at Sin as she exited the ballroom, and no one called after her. Feeling their eyes on her, Sara made her way out of the room, letting the door close behind her.

“Ms. Lance.”

Sara looked up into the cold gaze of Eobard Thawne. It took her more effort than she’d ever admit in order not to back away from him. His dark pants and shirt weren’t of high quality, and made his pale skin seem sallow. Despite her instincts screaming at her to run, Sara smiled at him. “Mr. Thawne.”

He didn’t seem interested in pretenses, though. “You didn’t try to run last night.”

Sara kept her smile bland. “Why would I want to leave when Mr. Darhk has been so very accommodating?”

He took a step closer, definitely in her space now. Sara slid one foot back, just a bit, for leverage and hoped he didn’t notice. Lowering his head a bit, Eobard said, “Damien may have a soft spot for a pretty face, but I have no such reservations. If it were up to me, you’d be neck-deep in the swamplands already.”

Sara had a visceral image of the Louisiana swamps, teeming with alligators, and hoped she’d at least be dead before then. Looking at Eobard’s flat expression, she doubted it. “Then I guess I’m lucky it’s not up to you.”

He chuckled. “Damien could still change his mind. I’ll hold out hope.”

“I suppose the corpse at CCPD was your work, then?” Sara asked.

Eobard’s smile was nothing like a smile should be. “I’m very good at my job.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said, wondering if he could see the way her heart was pounding in her throat. “But like you said, it isn’t up to you, is it?”

His eyes narrowed and Sara moved past him. She nearly sighed in relief as she managed to step away from where he had pinned her against the door to the ballroom, but before she could, Eobard moved. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. Sara dropped her papers, her pen clattering across the hardwood floor, spinning on her heel as Eobard pulled her back, so she faced him instead of allowing him to twist her arm behind her back.

“Accidents can happen,” Eobard hissed. Though she still had some control, his hand was tight enough around her wrist that she knew there would be bruises.

She could hit him, she could make him let go, but where would she do from there? There were who knew how many guards outside and she had no way to contact anyone else. His hand clenched tighter, and she could feel the edges of his nails digging into her skin.

“Mr. Thawne!”

Damien’s voice snapped out and Eobard’s eyes lifted to look at someone over Sara’s shoulder, though he didn’t let go of her.

“Mr. Darhk,” he answered, his voice still tight with anger.

Sara didn’t look away from Eobard, even as footsteps approached her from behind.

“Release Ms. Lance, please,” Damien said from right beside Sara. She could see him on her peripherals but still didn’t look away from Eobard.

Sara had rarely seen legitimate hatred before. Dislike, anger, irritation, temporary fury, certainly. But as Eobard looked back at her, she saw true and complete hatred in his eyes. She just didn’t know if it was aimed at her or Damien.

“Eobard,” Damien warned, anger bubbling beneath the word.

Eobard released her arm with a shove. As blood pulsed back into her wrist and hand, Sara was certain not to touch it, not to show that he had gotten to her.

“Excellent,” Damien said, as if that settled everything. “Lunch is ready.” He turned, assuming they would all follow. As if they had a choice.

Thawne glared at Sara for another moment, before leaning in. “Damien won’t always be there to save you.” He left, following Damien into the dining room.

She wished she could have come up with something witty or brave to say in return, but she came up empty. So she let him go, watching until she was certain he wouldn’t come back immediately. Only when he entered the dining room did she turn to pick up her papers.

Leonard was standing behind her, her papers and pen already in hand. Sara reached out to take them, but he took her hand instead, turning it gently to look at the red mark on her arm.

She didn’t understand how anyone could work with people like Damien and Eobard. How someone could just stand there and watch them threaten people, hurt people -  _ kill  _ people - and not say anything? Not do something? It wasn’t about her being a woman, it was about basic human decency. Sara had stood up for a lot of people in her life, she stood up for herself, and she didn’t realize how much she’d taken it for granted until she was in the viper’s nest and couldn’t speak up. Until no one else would do it for her.

And the worst part, she thought, as she met Leonard’s concerned gaze, was that she so very much wanted to like him. Part of her already did. In spite of his lies and his obvious involvement, she knew he was different from Damien. Something beneath this facade was better than the people he worked with.

But how much allowance could be made for someone who still chose to stand by and let bad things happen? How often did he have to pretend to be cruel before he actually was?

Caring for a man like Leonard was like playing Russian roulette. How many times could she take the chance and pull the trigger, hoping he would do the right thing, despite knowing how dangerous he obviously was?

Taking the papers with her free hand, Sara dropped her eyes and pulled away from him, starting towards the dining hall to have lunch with people who wanted her dead. At least they were honest about it.

“Doc,” Leonard called after her, his voice gentle and worried, and saying it like he gave a damn.

She didn’t pause. She didn’t turn. She didn’t pull the trigger.

This wasn’t a game she could win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonard recites part of Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.”  
> They both recite part of Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2.


	8. Interior with a Woman at a Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (A nice little holiday update for you.)
> 
> Jacobus Vrel is often assumed to have been a member of the so-called De Hooch School, but the date on his Interior with a Woman at a Window (Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, inv. no. 6081), is 1654, and proves that he dated paintings four years before any known dates on De Hooch's Delft-style interiors or courtyards. Vrel painted domestic interiors, courtyards, street scenes and two gothic church interiors. In the past his works have often been misattributed not only to De Hooch, but also to Johannes Vermeer, Isaak Koedijk and Pieter Janssens Elinga.  
> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/03/70/52/0370526fd861af60406312ff7ee01871.jpg

Lunch was a quiet affair. Sara sat on Damien’s left, while Leonard and Eobard sat on his right. She kept her eyes on her meal, avoiding the glares of Eobard. She couldn’t remember what they ate, it all just tasted like ash in her mouth, but she kept up pretenses.

Midmeal, Damien’s phone rang and he glanced at the display. “Excuse me,” he said, pushing away from the table and answering the phone. Sara watched as he entered the parlor and closed the doors behind him.

Sara continued eating, feeling Eobard’s eyes on her. Before he could say or do anything, the doors to the foyer opened, revealing Detective Hunter. Sara spared him a single glance, then turned back to finish her meal.

“Mr. Darhk?” Rip asked, coming forward. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, but a pair of very frayed jeans and a brown button-up shirt.

“Phone call,” Leonard answered, jerking his head towards the parlor.

“Ah,” Rip said. He leaned on the chair next to Sara. “I’ll wait, then.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Damien opened the door, his phone still in his hand. “Eobard. I need to speak with you.” He caught sight of Rip and frowned. “Detective. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Eobard pushed away from the table with a scrape of his chair, tossing his napkin next to his plate. He followed Damien back into the room and the door shut behind them again. Leonard also stood, but moved to the window. Sara could hear the sound of muffled voices from the parlor, but couldn’t make them out without getting closer. Before she could try, Rip pulled out the chair next to her, leaning in.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

Sara wiped her mouth with her napkin and cut her eyes at Rip. “Don’t pretend you care, Detective.”

“I do,” he insisted. “I do care, very much.” The circles below his eyes were even darker than before and looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He legitimately looked worried about her.

Sara rolled her eyes and Rip leaned in a little closer.

“I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I didn’t want you to get involved.”

“For my sake or that of your conscience?” she countered, getting to her feet. Rip rose with her, much taller.

“There are many things you don’t understand about all of this.”

“I’m sure there are,” she said. “But I really don’t have the luxury of time to figure all of it out. You’re working with Darhk, so things seem pretty clear to me.”

At the window, she saw Leonard shift a little, catching his profile before Rip spoke again.

“I’m not like him.”

“You murdered someone. You threatened me at gunpoint and made me a prisoner here. Forgive me if I’m not inclined to trust your assessment of yourself,” Sara said, turning away from him.

He grabbed her arm, and Sara granted that he didn’t intend to hurt her, but he unintentionally grabbed the darkening bruise Eobard had left. She hissed in pain and Rip, to his credit, immediately let go of her, his brows drawing together. At the corner of her eye, Leonard turned towards them, no longer pretending that he wasn’t listening.

“What happened?” he asked.

Drawing her arm a little closer to her side, Sara managed a glare. “What do you think?”

“Oh, god. I’m sorry, Sara. Please forgive me. You have to believe that I didn’t have a choice -” he insisted.

“You did,” she interrupted, her fear and anger eating away at her and so many things she wanted to say, with Rip presenting a perfect target. “You did have a choice. Maybe not last night, maybe not weeks ago, but you made the choice to work with Damien at some point, because you valued something more than whatever morals you had.”

Rip stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open, and he drew in a breath, but Sara wasn’t done.

“Stop pretending that this isn’t your fault or that you’re just another victim. _You_ are at fault. What happened to Simon is your fault. Whatever happens to me will be just as much your fault as the one who pulls the trigger, because you’re here, helping him. Obeying him.”

Grabbing her stupid article, Sara shook her head, still angry. “Choosing to listen to your conscience on occasion doesn’t make you a good person,” she said. “But choosing to ignore it either by doing cruel things or allowing them to happen in front of you? That does make you a bad one. You can’t ask me for my forgiveness as if that will absolve you. It won’t. _ I _ won’t.”

She started towards the main doors, intent on heading back up to her room and giving in to the temptation to just hide away from everything for a while. Before she did, she looked back. Leonard was still by the window, no trace of amusement on his face, and Rip was facing her, looking like someone had struck him.

“We aren’t friends,” she said quietly, unsure who she was speaking to. “You can argue the technicalities all you want, but there are two sides here: those who are with Damien and those who aren’t. Until you change sides, everything you say is just a lie to make yourself feel better." She made to turn but paused one last time to look at Rip directly. "And Rip, if you touch me again, I will break your arm.”

She left the dining room and no one said a word.

* * *

A few hours later, Sara was disturbed by a knock on her bedroom door. She opened it, revealing Wintergreen. She couldn’t muster the energy to pretend to be civil and just stared at him.

“Mr. Darhk regrets to inform you that dinner will be served in your room this evening, as he has business to attend to in town. Mr. Thawne, Mr. Wynters, and Detective Hunter are spending the night, should you have any concerns.”

And should she make any attempt to escape, she heard.

“Thanks,” she said.

He nodded once, then turned. Sara shut the door behind him, replacing the stool.

Dinner came and went, Sara just picking at it. Weirdly enough, in her despondency, she managed to finish her article and tuck it into her bag. Hopefully, she’d survive long enough to see it published. As she was putting it away, she heard the clatter of something small on her window.

Looking over at the window, Sara remained in her seat.

A few more pebbles hit the window. She ignored them. Then a louder crack as something more like a rock hit it.

She got up and closed the curtains, blocking out the light from her room. Going to the bathroom, she figured she should just get ready for bed. Midway through brushing her teeth, she heard another rattle at her window and rolled her eyes, not making any move to the window. She leaned over to spit at the sink.

“Some hostess you are.”

Sara spun on her heel, seeing Leonard climbing through her previously locked window on the second floor and into her room.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed at him, wiping the toothpaste off the edge of her mouth.

“Well, someone didn’t open the window,” he said, closing the window behind him and tucking the curtains shut, as if this was a normal way to enter someone’s room.

“Take the hint,” Sara said. She turned her back on him, rinsing her toothbrush and washing her face. She could see him in the mirror behind her, leaning against the doorframe.

“You know, Doc, I get the feeling you’re mad at me.”

Sara pushed past him to the bedroom, going into her bag to grab her pajamas. Her fingers brushed the small piece of paper holding a poem she’d memorized, foolishly believing the words rather than the actions. She pushed it to the side. “I’m not mad. I just can’t afford to trust you.”

“You absolutely shouldn’t.”

Sara dropped her pajamas to the bed, crossing her arms. “Then why are you here?”

“I feel like I owe you an...explanation.”

“Do you think that changes anything?”

“Not in the slightest. But you deserve one nonetheless.”

She hesitated and felt the ephemeral trigger in her hand again. Looking at his eyes, she took a seat.

Leonard didn’t move from his position on the wall. “Years ago, a crime boss named the Immortal hired a bunch of thieves in Central City. Supposedly for an easy job, but the one who actually got the item would get the cash. I already had a record, so I figured crime was about the only thing I had available. Midway through the job, the six of us were told that only the one who succeeded would survive. It was good motivation.”

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen.” He took in a breath. “When I won, the Immortal gave me a choice - work for him or join the other bodies. We started small, just a couple of thieves and the Immortal. I didn’t meet any of them. He kept us separate, so we couldn’t rat one another out. I didn’t meet him in person for the first three years, but it was a decent gang. All I had to do was steal stuff, and I got paid. Easy.” He paused for a moment.

“A few years in, he wanted me to break into a museum and steal a painting. I did, but the fallout was bad. We had to leave town. It was a while before he asked me to do it again, but this time, I replaced the original with a forgery. No one noticed. Sold the painting with no heat on us, and it started something. The Immortal had me continue to do that, for years. I stole hundreds, replacing them. Sometimes they were noticed, but most times they weren’t.”

He crossed his arms. “It’s hard to spend all that time with art and not pick up something about it. He sent me out on a job, and I realized that the painting I was stealing was already a forgery, just being replaced with a better one. I told the Immortal and he said to mind my own business. I’m not great at that. In the next year, out of the eighteen paintings I stole, sixteen of them were already forgeries, sold as the real thing. I did some digging and found out the other thieves in the group were stealing paintings, too. The ones I’d already stolen, and vice versa.”

“It was a scam,” Sara summarized. “He kept the real ones and sold the forgeries.”

Leonard nodded. “I’m not fond of being taken advantage of. Risking my life for something fake. It wasn’t all that difficult to find his stash. The next time he had me steal a fake painting, I replaced it with the real thing instead of the forgery. I did that for two years. How he found out, I don’t know, but he did.”

Sara let her arms uncross, invested in his story.

“The next auction he had, he revealed to his buyers that they’d been buying forgeries, but he said it was my plot. I barely got out of town alive. I had to leave, cut off contact with my family and friends, and keep running. It took me two years to find another arm of the Immortal’s gang, and another five to get close to them.”

“Damien,” Sara said.

He inclined his head once. “The man in Central City’s morgue is one of my replacements. He got greedy, tried to run with the forgeries instead of switching them with what was in the museums, and Thawne cleaned it up. Damien is a middleman. Malcolm is how he’s been getting the real paintings out of the museums, but it’s all under the Immortal’s control. The Immortal rarely leaves wherever he holds up, but I found out he’s coming to the auction on Wednesday.”

“Damien doesn’t know about your history?”

“No. I’ve been careful, creating an entire past with Wynters. He believes I’m nothing more than an investor of the Immortal’s, interested in making sure this runs off without a hitch. He hired me to do his financials after the fact.”

Sara looked at her hands. “Why are you telling me this? I could go and tell Damien, it might be enough to let me go.”

“It probably would be,” he agreed.

She looked up at him, both of them knowing she wouldn’t.

He let his gaze drift towards the window. “When this started, I told myself I would do whatever it took. Hurt whoever I had to. And it’s been easy. Most of the people I was lying to were worse than me. I don’t have a problem with that. Years of work and I’m just a few days from my freedom.” He’d once again forgone the suit jacket he’d worn earlier. Sara could discern narrow scars along his forearms and the backs of his hands.

Leonard looked back at her. “I don’t regret the decisions that led me here. I wouldn’t change anything. Save this morning.” He looked down at her arm, where the bruise was starting to blossom into violent color.

She shifted to cover the bruise with her other hand. This was a lot of information to take in. And it didn’t help that she was so inclined to believe him. Still, he’d shared so much and taken a risk on her. It was only fair that she offered up a bit more truth in return. “I really want to trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.” He smiled, but it lacked the usual edge. “Don’t misunderstand, Doc. I’m a criminal. I lie and cheat and steal, and I’m not interested in changing. I just don’t like being hunted.”

“I understand.”

“I made my choices,” he said, calling back to her comment earlier. He straightened up from the wall.

“You did,” Sara echoed quietly.

“It was a hell of a plan before you showed up.” It was said without anger, though.

“I’m well aware I’m an inconvenience,” Sara said, getting to her feet.

He chuckled quietly and took a few slow steps forward, his hands in his pockets. Sara watched him and didn't step back as he approached. Leonard stopped fairly close to her and then didn't make another move. Sara took a breath, unsure of what she was going to say - or do -

A knock at the door made Sara jump, and Leonard glared at the door. Neither of them moved for a moment, and Sara heard a voice through the wood.

“Ms. Lance? It’s Rip.” 

She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes.

“Scheduling your appointments a little close, aren’t you?” Leonard said quietly. “‘Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.’”

Sara glared at him and he ducked into the bathroom. Sara went to her bedroom door and opened it, not very far.

Rip was leaning against the door frame and made to step forward, but she kept the door mostly closed. He looked down at her, still uncomfortably close even with the door between them.

“What do you want, Detective?” Sara asked.

“Can I come in?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his face.

“No.”

He blinked, not having expected that answer. “Sara -”

“We have nothing to discuss,” Sara interrupted him.

“Look, if you would just let me in, I could help you. Together, maybe we can think of a way to keep Damien happy so he’ll let you go after the auction. I know that it looks bad, but -”

Sara looked at him, struck by his blind hope. He honestly believed that.

“He’s not going to let me go,” Sara interrupted, her voice coming out more gently than she expected. “He’s smart, and letting me go makes no sense.”

Rip’s smile wavered. “But he said -”

“Detective,” Sara said firmly. “He lied.”

“I...I didn’t know.”

She believed that. Incompetence or hope, it didn’t matter anymore. “You should go.”

“I want to help you.”

“I don’t think Damien would like hearing that you’re plotting against him,” Sara said, seeing a faint flash of fear in his eyes. “You should go,” she repeated.

Rip lowered his head and turned without another word. Sara doubted that he’d be showing up at her door again.

Closing it, she leaned against the wood, listening to Rip’s footsteps walk away. She shut her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, Leonard had come out of the bathroom and was standing by her window.

“He’s not cut out for this job,” Sara observed, trying to smile.

“No, he’s not.”

She moved the stool back in front of her door.

“I am, though,” Leonard said after a moment.

Sara turned, frowning. “You’re what?”

“Cut out for this job,” he explained. “And as the one person who’s gotten away from the Immortal and his lackeys, I can promise it’s not impossible.”

“You trying to be a hero, Leonard?” she asked.

“'Hero' ain't exactly on my resume,” Leonard admitted, opening the curtain a little and checking his watch. “But pissing off people like Damien? I can do that all day.”

She crossed the room as Leonard opened the window, swinging his legs out and finding invisible handholds and footholds to start climbing down. Sara watched, only mildly concerned that he might fall. He made the climb up without an issue. Midway down the wall, he looked up at her, clinging to the wall like a spider in a button-up and vest. “Don’t worry, it’s easier than it looks.”

Sara’s smile was real that time as she watched him climb down and then drop to the ground. He met her eyes once again from the ground. “Everything will turn out okay. Trust me,” he added, with a wry grin.

With a humorless laugh, Sara said, “You lie and cheat and steal, remember?”

His grin flashed in the darkness. “‘I lied, trusting you knew I could not lie to you.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonard quotes “Go and catch a falling star” by John Donne.  
> Part of this was directly inspired by a scene from Vicky Bliss’s novel Trojan Gold.  
> Leonard quotes “A Truth about a Lie” by Leonora Spayer.


	9. Interior of a Collector's Gallery of Paintings and Objets d'Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pictures known as Connoisseurs' galleries formed an independent genre in the painting of the Netherlands. Ideal evocations of fashionable seventeenth-century "collector connoisseurship", they were also related to the art market, with which Cornelius de Braeilleur was familiar: his father and his uncle were both dealers. here a large residence holds a collection of paintings and several curios (shell, scientific instruments, China porcelain) arranged on a table. A mythological painting in the Italian style is shown on an easel to potential buyers.  
> https://www.wga.hu/html_m/b/baellieu/collecto.html

The next morning passed in much the same way, except Damien didn’t join them for breakfast. The table was quiet, with a subdued Rip joining her and Leonard. In honor of Mardi Gras, Wintergreen brought them beignets with their breakfast, but Sara had a hard time enjoying it. After breakfast, she trailed along behind Leonard as he went into the parlor with a laptop. She didn’t want a repeat of yesterday with Eobard, and figured witnesses might help a little bit. Rip drifted in and out of the parlor, looking like he wanted to talk to Sara, but she never gave him an opportunity. She remained in the parlor, picking a book she couldn’t remember the name of and pretending to read it.

With Rip wandering in and out, and Eobard joining them a few hours later, she never felt comfortable enough to speak honestly with Leonard, and he never made a move to begin a conversation either. However, once Eobard came in, Leonard did shift from the chair in the corner to the couch directly across from her seat, so she’d be in his eye line.

Even with witnesses, Eobard didn’t seem to care. He came up behind Sara’s seat and put his hands on the back of her chair. 

“Good morning, Ms. Lance.”

“Morning, Mr. Thawne,” Sara answered, turning a page in her book, she felt her heartbeat in her throat but didn’t look back at him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand start to reach for her shoulder and she gritted her teeth, ready to-

“Mr. Thawne.”

Sara glanced up, seeing Leonard still looking at his computer. As she watched, his eyes slowly lifted to Eobard.

“Let’s not assume we know what Mr. Darhk wants, and you stop harassing his guests,” Leonard suggested, his voice soft, but so very cold.

“What business is it of yours?” Eobard asked, his hand retreating from her shoulder.

“All of Mr. Darhk’s business is mine,” Leonard answered. “And I don’t care to watch you threaten someone who can’t fight back. Call me old fashioned, but I find it rather cowardly.”

“Cowardly?” Eobard echoed.

“It means a lack of courage or self-confidence.”

Letting out a harsh sound that was nothing like a laugh, Eobard moved from behind Sara’s chair and towards Leonard. “You have a lot of nerve.”

“Yes, that would be the opposite of cowardly,” Leonard said, returning his gaze to his computer.

Eobard sputtered, but Rip came in again, his eyes darting between the three of them, the tension palpable.

“Everything alright?” Rip asked.

Eobard glared at Leonard, who ignored him completely. With his focus on Leonard, Eobard left the room, seemingly forgetting about Sara. Rip stared after Thawne, frowning. Sara took the chance and looked at Leonard. He glanced up for just a moment, and Sara silently mouthed “thank you.”

He never seemed to look at her, but the corner of his mouth lifted up.

About twenty to one, the front door opened. The parlor door swung open just a moment later, revealing Damien and Malcolm Merlyn. Behind them, Sara could see several people walking in and out, carrying large covered bundles. Damien smiled at Leonard, Sara, and Rip, the only ones in the room.

“Ah, it is so good to see you again. I apologize for last night. A businessman never rests.” He smiled. “But, happy Mardi Gras! Shall we adjourn for lunch?”

The table was more full than it had been in the past. With Damien at one head of the table and Merlyn at the other, Eobard and Leonard took one side of the table, and Sara ended up between Rip and Damien on the other side.

It was disappointing that such wonderful food had to be consumed in the presence of such awful people. In any other environment, she would have enjoyed it. Lunch appeared to be more of a festive spread. However, she could barely remember what she ate or how it tasted.

“So, time to catch up,” Damien said, sitting back in his chair. “Ms. Lance, how’s your article coming along?”

If she survived this, Sara was never going to fake a smile ever again. She did so now. “It’s finished, actually.”

“Is it really?” Damien said, grinning. “Congratulations! I look forward to reading it. And you will have an excellent view of the parade from your room this evening.” He looked at Rip next to her. “And how is the world coping with their missing art historian?” he asked, so very casually.

Rip sounded apologetic. “Her employer, Mr. Raymond Palmer, has been calling repeatedly. I’ve been answering with text messages, but he is getting suspicious. The end of her scheduled visit is approaching.”

Good old Ray, Sara thought, smothering any expression.

“And the precinct?” Damien asked.

“No calls about Ms. Lance or the boy from the storage center,” Rip answered quietly, his eyes carefully avoiding Sara.

“Excellent. Continue to placate Mr. Palmer for now. We only need a few more days.” He moved past Mr. Merlyn to focus on Eobard.

“Any security concerns, Mr. Thawne?”

“Nothing other than what I’ve already expressed,” Eobard answered, cutting his eyes at Sara.

“Understood.” Damien picked up his drink and eyed Leonard. “And how is your sister, Mr. Snart?”

The air seemed to thicken with tension as Leonard went very, very still. Only his eyes moved as he looked up, meeting Damien’s gaze.

“Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Damien asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Leonard inhaled, leaning back in his chair and smiling, but it was a very different expression than any Sara had ever seen on him. “Well, it’s taken you this long.”

“I am impressed,” Damien laughed. “From a no-name son of a corrupt cop, to a favorite thief among the Immortal’s gang, to a traitorous criminal on the run.”

“And I’m not done yet.”

Eobard was staring at Leonard with a kind of fanatic excitement, and Merlyn was smirking, arrogant. Rip was looking between all of them, obvious confusion on his face. Sara kept her gaze on Leonard, but his eyes were solely on Damien.

“How’d you figure it out?” Leonard asked.

“You got sloppy.”

“I’m never sloppy.”

“Never trusted someone you shouldn’t?” Damien countered.

Leonard’s eyes flickered, almost over to Sara, before returning to Damien.

Leaning against the table, Damien stared at him. “I’m sure the Immortal would be very interested in seeing you again.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Her eyes darting between Leonard and Damien, Sara was struck by how similar they looked in this moment. Both of them incredibly dangerous and deviously intelligent.

“We’ll keep you here for the moment, provided you don’t make anything difficult,” Damien said. “I’m sure he’d prefer you alive, but dead is always an option.”

“It would be so much more convenient for him if I were dead,” Leonard agreed. “Seeing as how I’m the one who knows his secrets.”

Damien scoffed, but Leonard didn’t blink.

“You think I worked for him, then spent the last seven years looking for him and not learned anything?” Leonard asked, arching a brow. “I knew enough to find you, and get me to this auction. Why this one and not the one last year?”

“Because he’s coming,” Merlyn realized quietly, the arrogance fading slightly as he frowned at Leonard.

The thief picked up his drink like he didn’t have a care in the world, a long sip the only movement at the table. When he put it down, he gave Damien another small smile. “You only contact him through email and phone calls. You’ve never seen him. You don’t know anything but what he allows you to know. I know his face. I know his name. And I know he’s been playing all of you for years. You’re nothing more than a front and a fall guy.”

Damien’s smile was gone and a glare was starting to take its place. “How _dare_ you -”

“You sure all those paintings of yours are real, Darhk?” Leonard interrupted. “You bought them from the Immortal’s auctions, didn’t you?”

His eyes moving from him to Merlyn, Damien just quietly said, “Malcolm.”

Merlyn scoffed, “They aren’t forgeries, Damien, you can’t believe this man over me when I -”

“A few of them are,” Sara interjected.

The entire table looked at her, Damien’s and Eobard’s glares unsettling, but Leonard’s closed suspicion a bit worse.

“Excuse me?” Damien said.

“A few of the paintings you have are forgeries,” Sara repeated, meeting Damien’s eyes.

The chair screeched across the ground as Damien got to his feet suddenly. His breath was coming faster and Sara had never seen the tinge of color in his cheeks before. Damien glared at Eobard and pointed at Leonard. “If he moves, kill him.” Then he looked at Sara. “You, with me. Now.”

Sara stood and Damien took her arm, pulling her out of the room. It wasn’t the same place Eobard had grabbed, but she still tensed as he dragged her up the stairs. Once on the second-floor landing, Damien released her with a bit of a shove. “Which ones?” he asked, his voice a little too loud. When Sara was quiet for a moment, Damien shouted, “Which ones?!”

Sara pointed out the four fakes silently, including the Van Gogh on the stairwell. With each gesture, Damien’s face grew more and more red. He took Sara’s arm again, pulling her back downstairs and into the ballroom. The servants were still there, putting the art on easels and removing the coverings. Sara saw Sin look up, her eyes wide in fear.

“Get out!” Damien shouted at them, still holding onto Sara. The servants jumped and hurried out of the room, silence in their wake.

“Which ones?” Damien shook her a little this time, not releasing her, but pulling her to stand in front of every painting one by one. It took her a little longer, having not seen some of these before, but Sara looked at them, unsurprised as she answered him, one by one.

“Fake. Fake. Fake.” She went down the line, with every painting in the collection being a forgery. They reached the last painting, and Sara said, “Fake.”

“No!” Damien roared. He shoved Sara away from him and into the painting in a rage, and she got tangled with the easel. The entire mess hit the floor with a clatter, and Sara’s hand went through the canvas.

“Damien.”

Sara looked over at the door, where the rest of the group had gathered - Malcolm and Rip, with Eobard standing behind Leonard, gun drawn and pointed at his back. Sara got to her feet, ignoring the smear of blood on her leg from where the middle beam of the easel had scraped her. She tried to keep her eyes on Damien, but she kept glancing at the gun in Eobard’s hand.

“Did you think I was the only one the Immortal screwed over?” Leonard asked, sounding as if this was merely a conversation between good friends. “Or did you honestly believe you weren’t expendable?”

Merlyn started, “The buyers will know -”

“They won’t know shit,” Leonard scoffed. “You obviously didn’t.”

Eobard glanced at Merlyn. “You made the forgeries. How did you not realize that you were replacing one forgery with another?”

Malcolm gaped at him. “What? You think that I knew?”

“Damned if you did, and an idiot if you didn’t,” Leonard added.

Spinning on Leonard with a glare, Malcolm jabbed a finger into his chest. “I am a restorer, not a historian!”

“Obviously,” Leonard smiled.

Damien took in a slow breath, then let it out. He straightened the sleeves of his suit and gathered his composure once more. “The buyers might not know, but if the Immortal comes, he’ll notice we’re missing a piece. He’ll ask questions.”

“We need to cut our losses -” Eobard started.

“No, we need to get out of town,” Merlyn interrupted.

“What we need, gentlemen,” Damien said, his voice still a bit too loud, but much calmer than it had been, “is a distraction and a way to clean house.” He looked at the painting that had fallen. “He will ask what happened, and I’ll reveal that we caught Mr. Snart in the process of replacing the real paintings with fakes.”

“Then we admit that Mr. Snart was able to fool us,” Eobard said. “We’ll be seen as weak.”

“The Immortal doesn’t know that Mr. Snart and Mr. Wynters are the same person,” Damien said softly. “He doesn’t even know that we have Mr. Snart yet. He won’t need to know anything about our history. We instead say that Mr. Snart used his conspirator, Ms. Lance, to gain access and it was through her efforts that Mr. Snart was able to enter the house. A mistake, but a much smaller one. We won’t have to worry about the buyers or the Immortal coming after us.”

Leonard scoffed. “The Immortal won’t believe that story. Especially because I’ll tell him the truth.”

“You can’t tell him anything if you’re a corpse,” Eobard countered.

“Mr. Darhk,” Rip said, his voice shaking, “you said -”

“I’m well aware of what I said, Detective,” Damien snapped. “But in case you didn’t notice, the situation has changed. Should Mr. Snart prove uncooperative, I’ll have no choice but to make sure he can’t speak at all. If,” he glanced back at Leonard, “however, he should like to change his tune, perhaps allowances will be made.”

Leonard scoffed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because we both know that the Immortal would really only want you. Tell the right story, and there’s a chance he’ll let our dear Ms. Lance go, or at least leave her alive.”

Sara glared at Damien’s profile, hating him more with every word.

“A slim chance,” Leonard retorted.

“If you don’t cooperate, it would be much easier to just hand over two bodies. I’d rather take the chance that he won’t believe the story rather than take the risk you’ll out my part in this.” Damien smiled. “In fact, this does seem like an unnecessary risk in all. Eobard?”

Sara blinked as Eobard lifted the gun from Leonard’s back and pointed it directly at her chest. She took a half step back, unable to do much more, boxed in the corner as she was.

“Why would I care?” Leonard asked.

“I don’t know,” Damien answered. “And I don’t care. All I know is that you do.” He nodded at Eobard, who drew back the hammer and put his finger on the trigger.

There was nowhere for her to go. She was too far away to do anything before Eobard fired. There wasn’t - she couldn’t -

Eobard grinned. Rip turned away, silent and refusing to watch. Merlyn sighed and took a small step back. And Leonard -

Leonard broke away from glaring at Damien, looking at Sara for just a moment. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t move. Leonard looked back at Damien.

“Fine,” Damien sighed, and Sara closed her eyes at the finality in his tone. “Eobard -”

“Stop.”

Sara opened her eyes as Damien said, “What was that, Mr. Snart?”

“I’ll do it,” Leonard said, sounding tired and not looking at Sara. “I’ll tell your story to the Immortal.”

“Excellent.” Damien smiled. “Leverage is a wonderful thing, is it not?”

“Go to hell.”

Damien didn’t seem to be concerned. “Mr. Thawne, bring Ms. Lance and Mr. Snart upstairs and keep them in their rooms. You’ll have your meals brought to you there. Make any attempt to escape and-”

“Yeah, you’re repeating yourself,” Leonard interrupted, sounding massively unconcerned. “Locked in our rooms at least gives me the opportunity to stop pretending that any of you say something I care about.” With that, Leonard turned, facing directly towards Eobard and his gun.

Eobard shifted it from Sara back to Leonard. Sara couldn’t see Leonard’s face, but from Eobard’s frustration, she gathered it wasn’t the fear Eobard was hoping for.

“You gonna move?” Leonard asked.

Thawne’s face convulsed in anger, but Damien spoke out.

“Eobard. Escort Ms. Lance and Mr. Snart back up to their rooms and make sure they’re secure. Don’t shoot them unless they actually try to run.”

Eobard was obviously livid at the idea but didn’t argue. Damien gestured for Sara to go, so she did, not looking at Rip or Malcolm as she walked past them, following Leonard out the door, with Eobard behind them, still holding the gun.

They ascended the stairs in silence, Sara not wanting to speak in front of Eobard and not entirely sure what to say to Leonard at all. Her presence had apparently messed up Leonard’s plan, seven years in the making. Though she was obviously relieved to be alive, she felt...guilty.

And she didn’t know if they would survive the night.

“Leonard,” she said quietly as they made the turn at the top of the stairs towards her room.

He ignored her, continuing to walk towards her hallway. Eobard walked them both down to Sara’s room, obviously waiting for her to get in first. Sara paused at her door.

“Leonard,” she repeated, ignoring Eobard behind them.

“I told you to stop digging and get out of town,” he said, his voice cold and controlled. Close to how he’d been speaking to Damien. He looked at her, and his gaze was flat, angry. None of the humor. None of the concern, despite his earlier actions. “You didn’t listen.”

The trigger was against her fingers again, and she already knew that this chamber would be full.

“I’ve lost everything,” Leonard said.

Though he didn’t say it, she heard the end of that sentence anyway.

_ Because of you. _

Before she could answer, Leonard moved away, not looking at her, allowing Eobard to close the door.

Sara heard the turn of a key in the lock from outside and she was alone.


	10. Ommegang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of the six paintings of the Ommegang painted by van Alsloot are considered lost. Of the surviving works, two are in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and two in the Prado Museum in Madrid. One of the paintings held in the Victoria and Albert Museum was split in two at an unknown date. An undivided copy of it made around 1635 is in the collection of the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium in Brussels, while a copy of one of the halves is held by the Prado Museum. Artistically the works are not very remarkable as they mainly served a documentary, rather than an artistic, purpose. The paintings offer historians an interesting insight into this type of festivity.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denis_van_Alsloot#/media/File:Denis_van_Alsloot_-_The_Ommeganck_in_Brussels_on_31_May_1615._The_Triumph_of_Archduchess_Isabella.jpg

Sara’s dinner was untouched on the nightstand, the delicious scents not enough to get through the turmoil in her stomach. Out of her open window, Sara listened for the sounds of the growing Mardi Gras celebration. It was still somewhat light outside, but the sunset was definitely at hand. She leaned out her window, hearing a large truck pull away from the front of the house.

She’d kept her head out the window for some time hearing two cars pull away later on, and they had yet to return. Either Damien was sending out his servants on a mission, or someone had left the house.

Escape before seemed unlikely and a greater risk than trying to placate Damien. Now, however, things had changed. And she was so very tired of playing the part of the damsel in distress. She didn’t do it well.

After the plate from dinner had been picked up, Sara changed her clothes into the one pair of slacks she had and her shoes into a pair of sneakers. Thankful her purse was large, she tightly rolled up another change of clothes, the toothbrush and toothpaste she’d been given, and her damn article. Lamenting the loss of a few of her skirts, Sara tightened the strap of her purse and pulled up her hair into a ponytail.

She waited until it was fully dark, sitting at the window for some time. Sara had turned out the lights in her room, as if she’d gone to bed, and pulled the curtain partially closed. Though she’d kept track earlier in her enforced stay and had a general idea of the patrol schedule, she watched more carefully tonight. Every twenty minutes, the patrol passed in view of her window and remained in sight for six minutes.

The noise from the street had hit a fever pitch, so Sara put the stool back in front of her door, then arranged the pillows in the bed as if someone was sleeping. It wouldn’t buy her much time if someone actually came in, but if it was just a passing glance, it might work.

As soon as the next patrol got out of sight, Sara pulled her purse over her head and climbed out onto the edge of her windowsill. Hanging there, she closed the curtain and then the window behind her. 

Jumping down was stupid, she already knew that. Having watched Leonard climb down, she knew it was possible. But she also knew that downstairs was the dining room and parlor. She couldn’t take the risk that someone would see her, passing by the windows. So instead of going down, she climbed up and onto the roof.

The air was muggy and close, and the darkness felt cloying around her. Music reached her from the streets, cheers and laughter almost grating as she slowly picked her way across the roof and over the gables to the back of the house.

Getting to the edge, Sara peered over. The windows she could see were dark and, if she was remembering the setup properly, the ballroom was on the first floor. The chance of people being here was smaller, and there were fewer windows.

Sara started climbing down, going slow enough not to make a stupid mistake, but quickly enough not to be caught by the patrol. Or at least, that was her plan, until she glanced into the window she was passing by.

It looked like the master suite. And it was empty.

Biting her lip, Sara considered the risks, then remembered that she was clinging to the outside of a murderous criminal’s house. She tried the window - it was unlocked. An opportunity could only be ignored for so long.

As quietly as she could, Sara slid into Damien’s room, closing the window behind her. At most, she would only stay another - she checked her watch - four minutes. That was when the patrol passed this side the next time. She would get away from the house and into the darkness of the grounds before attempting to climb the fence and lose herself in the chaos in the streets. There was a small sitting room, but Sara ignored it and went straight into the bedroom.

Going to the nightstand, Sara opened it up and rifled through, but saw nothing useful. She looked around the room, not seeing a desk of any kind. He had been working in the parlor, but he wouldn’t keep sensitive documents there, not where the rest of them could have stumbled upon something. She went towards the closet and started to pick through the drawers that were built into the walls there. At first, she saw nothing but expensive watches and cufflinks, but in a drawer near the bottom, she got something worthwhile.

A list of names and phone numbers in a notebook. It might have been his tailor, but Sara noted the Immortal’s name at the top, with a phone number. It would make sense that they wouldn’t keep digital records. Carefully and as quietly as she could, she tore the pages that had names on them and stared down at them.

If she could get these to the police, maybe they would be able to track these people down. Of course, that was assuming she found a legitimate cop and wasn’t killed or caught on her way there.

But it might be more useful to Leonard.

Sara tucked the papers in between the pages of her article, chewing on her lip. Her thought had been to get out of here, making Damien lose his leverage over Leonard, so he could enact whatever plan he had in mind. But even that plan filled her with some guilt, leaving him behind.

Regardless of whether or not he was still pissed at her, which he probably was, Sara couldn’t be able to forgive herself if she didn’t at least make the effort to free him. He might choose to stay, but she had to give him the option.

Dammit.

She crept over to the main door of the bedroom, unlocking it and slowly starting to turn the handle. Pushing it open centimeter by centimeter, Sara kept her eyes on the widening gap, looking for any sign of movement. If she recalled correctly, the door to Damien’s room wasn’t visible from the end of her hallway or the main stairs, but it was visible from the end of Leonard’s. If they had a guard there, her plan was already done for, but…

She pushed it open a little more, not seeing anyone at the beginning of Leonard’s hallway. As quickly and silently as she could, she darted into the hallway and over towards his room, but drew up short.

There was a guard, but he was unconscious on the ground.

She lost a few seconds staring at him, before coming to her senses and going to Leonard’s door. She turned the handle, not entirely surprised that it wasn’t locked. Pushing it open, she didn’t need more than a moment to see that the room was empty.

He was gone. He’d left.

He’d left her here.

Logically, maybe it was best. If he wasn’t here, there was no one for her to be leverage for. There was a chance that Damien would let her live, but it was obviously a small one. Maybe he thought the risk was worth it.

Or he just didn’t care.

It was mildly difficult to breathe for a moment, as if her throat had a catch in it, but she pushed past it. It was stupid. Leonard Smith/Wynters/Snart was a criminal and he didn’t give a damn about her. Not wanting her to be shot in front of him was one thing, but risking his life for her was something else entirely. She swallowed hard and decided to exit out of Damien’s room. She turned and headed back towards the hallway.

As she stepped out of the bedroom, she saw movement by her hallway. She was frozen with indecision, unsure if she should just stay still or try to dart back into the shadows by Leonard’s door -

Leonard stepped out from her hallway and made eye contact with her.

There was a second where they both stood there, obviously not expecting to see the other. He wasn’t wearing his normal suit or vest, but a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, with boots that laced up over the ankle. He had a small backpack over one shoulder.

Leonard recovered first, starting for the stairs with a jerk of his head, assumingly for her to join him. She wasn’t entirely sure of the intelligence of walking out the front door, but she kept all the words she wanted to say behind her lips, deciding to listen to him for once. She stayed right behind him.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Sara didn’t see anyone. Leonard unnecessarily pressed a finger to his lips for her to be quiet and Sara shot him a derisive look. He almost smiled, but it vanished at the last second. He stepped across the wooden floors with no sound at all. Sara did her best to imitate that, but there was a slight sound as she stepped, though not as much as if she had been wearing heels.

He moved a little faster than her, reaching the front door. Sara continued forward as quietly as she could as Leonard unlocked the front door, inching it open to look outside.

It was at that moment that Sara heard a door open just behind her and a hand grabbed her arm.

“Ms. Lance!”

Sara twisted, seeing Rip holding onto her arm, having come out of the closed parlor door. She looked up and met Rip’s eyes.

In his gaze, she saw that Rip wouldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t risk upsetting Damien. Whatever decency that had once existed in Detective Rip Hunter had died when he started to work with Darhk. Or it had never been strong enough to exist at all.

Sara grabbed Rip’s hand with her free one, twisting it up and back. She was able to watch the brief shock of surprise and enjoy the burst of fear before she slammed her now freed hand against Rip’s elbow, and didn’t blink at the sickening snap as she forced his arm to bend the wrong way.

He gasped and fell to his knees, the color leaving his face. The pain sent him into shock almost instantly, so he didn’t scream. But his wide, glassy eyes looked up at her, and Sara shrugged.

“I warned you,” Sara said, unable to inject even the slightest bit of concern into her voice. “And it’s _ Dr. _ Lance, you insufferable ass.”

She turned back, seeing Leonard had taken a couple steps towards her. As she watched, he schooled his expression, but it wasn’t quick enough to hide the surprise in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” is all he said.

Sara ignored the haggard breathing of Rip behind her and followed Leonard out the front door. The grounds were dark, the only glow coming out of the windows behind them. Leonard almost vanished in the shadows, but Sara stayed close to his heels.

“Where’re all the servants?” she asked quietly.

Leonard glanced at her, slowing his pace enough to walk alongside her, and answered in a hushed tone, “They all stay in their rooms after eight, except Wintergreen. I dealt with him earlier.”

“What did you do?” Sara asked.

“Locked him in the pantry.”

“And Thawne?”

Leonard gestured out to the darkness. “Patrolling. So let’s keep the chatter to a minimum.”

She cut her eyes at him but didn’t argue.

He went for the edge of the property line, which is exactly where Sara would have gone. Along the wall there were hedges, higher than Sara was tall.

“Keep an eye out,” Leonard whispered.

Sara turned, watching the open areas as well as keeping an eye on Leonard. He carefully pushed aside one of the hedges, revealing a fuse box with a padlock on it. Pulling something small and thin out of his pocket, he wedged it into the lock and fiddled with it for a moment.

“I didn’t mean keep an eye on me,” he said, without looking back.

Sara scoffed, looking back at the grounds. Listening to him work in silence for a moment, she couldn’t help but speak again. The music from the parade would cover almost all the noise. “Why were you by my room?”

“Hmm?”

“Back at Darhk’s,” Sara continued in a whisper. “What were you doing by my room?”

She heard a click and glanced back to see that the lockbox was open. Leonard pulled a knife from his pocket and cut a few wires. “Darhk’s got security going along the tops of the walls. Pressure plates and an electric wire. Try to climb it and a whole host of alarms will go off.” He closed the fuse box, locking it, and ignoring her question entirely. “There’s also a security patrol that runs the outside of the grounds. We have to wait another four minutes for that to pass, with a three-minute window until the internal patrol comes. We’ll have to move quickly.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Seven years of planning,” he reminded her. He crouched down on one knee by the wall, hidden by the hedges, and waved his hand for her to join him. She did, squatting against the wall to take some of the pressure off her knees. “How did you get out?” He looked over at her, his face unreadable.

“Climbed out my window and onto the roof,” Sara answered.

His brow moved just a bit.

“I figured if you could do it,” Sara trailed off with a shrug. He continued to stare at her, so she continued. “Damien’s room was unlocked, so I went in through there.”

“And the stopover at my room?” His expression didn’t change.

“I asked first.” Sara kept her eyes on Leonard and didn’t blink.

Leonard looked away first. Sara let it go.

After three minutes and fifty-nine seconds, Leonard got to his feet and looked up the wall. “Give me a boost,” he said.

For half a second, Sara wondered if he would leave her now. If the only reason he’d gone to her room was because he needed that boost. Leonard looked at her and she sighed internally, knowing it didn’t really matter since she’d already made her choice to help him.

Sara laced her fingers together and booted Leonard up. He caught the top of the wall and pulled himself up. He took a few seconds to move something around on the top of the wall, then he turned, holding his hand down for her. Sara had to jump, but she caught his hand, and he pulled her up and onto the wall.

As he pulled her up, the strap of her purse got caught on the hedge and slipped off her arm. She cursed under her breath and looked back.

“Just leave it,” Leonard whispered, his eyes darting over her shoulder and towards the grounds.

“I can’t.” She tried to tug her arm free from him but Leonard held on a little tighter.

“Doc, leave it,” he hissed.

She yanked harder, landing with a faint thud in the dirt. It took her a moment to find her purse in the dark, and a few more to untangle it.

“Damn it, Lance, move.”

She could hear voices coming nearer as she pulled the purse back over her head. Leonard was still waiting, but his eyes weren’t focused on her. Sara jumped anyway, and he caught her nonetheless. He pulled her up again, but as she grabbed the top of the wall, she heard from behind her -

“Hey!”

She spared a half-second to glance over her shoulder. A group of four men was heading towards them, and at the front of the pack was Eobard Thawne. He was reaching for his gun as she looked away.

“Faster would be better,” Leonard said, not bothering to whisper.

The scramble over the wall was hectic, but not from the tripwires, as Leonard had pulled the barbed wire away to make a small, clear path. Instead, it was due to the bullets that started to ricochet off of the brick wall around them. Sara winced as they came a little too close, but Leonard didn’t hesitate. He jumped off the other side, then turned, holding his hands out. “Let’s go.”

Another bullet hit a little closer, which helped Sara propel herself off of the wall. Leonard caught and steadied her for a second, hands tight on her waist. She was close enough to notice the lines around his eyes before he let go of her, bullets still ringing out in the air and eaten up by the less muffled noise of the parade around the corner. Leonard let go of her and Sara stumbled forward for a breath, then straightened.

“What now?” Sara asked.

Leonard’s eyes were focused on the wall behind her, but he took a step towards the parade. “You wanted to see Mardi Gras, didn’t you, Doc?”

It wasn’t as if they had much of a choice. She glanced behind her, seeing a hand start to breach the wall. She and Leonard ran towards the crowd, hoping to lose themselves in the chaos of New Orleans.


	11. Portia Wounding Her Thigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Portia wounding her thigh shows the challenges women were faced with in order to be taken seriously. This History Painting (genre usually forbidden or dissuaded to women artists, as it was considered the highest form of Art, which women were not capable of pursuing) narrates a classical episode from Ancient Roman History. It represents Portia, the wife of Brutus – son and one of the assassins of the Roman dictator Julius Caesar. Since women in Ancient Rome were considered to lack moral values, Brutus concealed from his wife his participation in the conspiracy to kill his father, fearing she would reveal the plan under torture. However, Portia wished to be trusted by her husband and be treated as his equal. To convince him that she possessed heroic virtues – commonly associated to men – she took a dagger and stabbed her thigh in front of her husband, resisting to show any sign of suffering. The aim was to prove herself as not weak- characteristics usually associated to women – and able to endure pain, succeeding in convincing her husband to reveal his secret to her.  
> http://thevenetianbox.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/307CDE61-37A9-4713-90B7-519A180D137B-300x216.jpeg

Sara thought that New Orleans on a regular day was crowded and insane. It was nothing compared to Mardi Gras. 

The press of bodies on the street jostled her, sweat-tacky skin catching hers, her hair twisting into ropes of perspiration, and her hands damp with nerves and heat. Music muffled everything but the closest and loudest conversation, cheers and shouts pressing against her eardrums. Alcohol was consumed openly and without care, sloshing over the lips of bottles and mouths, making the ground sticky and adding a hint of sweetness to the air.

The floats were glorious and garish, making colored lights glisten on sultry skin, and Sara didn’t get to enjoy any of it. She had to keep her eyes on Leonard, who was weaving through the crowd as if he could anticipate the movements of everyone around him, barely being bumped. He moved so quickly Sara was hard-pressed to keep up with him.

“Where are we going?” Sara half-shouted, trying to keep pace with him.

“I’ve got a room a few blocks away,” he said, not looking back at her. “Not under my name or any of my aliases, so it should be safe enough.”

“Then what?”

He didn’t answer.

The crowds never seemed to ease up, just only got more oppressive. Sara had to keep on Leonard’s heels, and still got pushed away. She looked up, seeing Leonard disappearing between a couple people. Shouldering through, Sara was about to call out, when she ran into someone full on.

“Sorry,” Sara said automatically, looking up.

Eobard looked down at her, eyes widening.

Her heart stopped as they both froze for a second. Then, Sara dove into the crowd around her as quickly as possible, weaving left and right and trying to get away from Thawne. Leonard was nowhere in sight now, but she could still see Thawne behind her. He was further away then she expected, but his eyes were still scanning the crowd for her.

Sara ducked between a couple that was making out, her hand landing in something wet and sticky as she pushed herself up and forward. The music and laughter was all around her, but all Sara felt was terror, waiting for Thawne to catch up with her, to shoot her in the back, to grab -

A hand grabbed her shoulder and Sara flinched away violently, wrenching her arm away and she turned.

Leonard stood behind her, brows drawn in a frown. “Can you not listen to one -”

“Thawne is here,” Sara interrupted. "He saw me."

Leonard glanced around. “C’mon.”

He put his hand in the middle of her back, pushing her forward through the crowd and keeping them together. They made it another block, pushing through dancers and revelers before Leonard stopped abruptly.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Sara followed his gaze to a group of three men ahead of them. They wore the same black outfits at Eobard and Sara saw the glint of a gun in the glimmer of lights from the parade. He looked behind them and cursed under his breath again. Sara looked back, seeing two more and Eobard approaching from behind, a sadistic smile on his face. Leonard hesitated, so Sara moved.

Twisting her hand into Leonard’s sweater, she yanked him to the side, towards the street.

“Doc -”

Sara dragged them towards the barrier, sliding over the top and pulling Leonard with her. Cops on the street started towards them, but she ran in the path of one of the floats, dodging between the people dancing around the float. She ignored them as they shouted at her and Leonard.

“Hey!”

“Get out of the street, morons!”

“Move it!”

She didn’t need to pull Leonard, he was running with her now, keeping pace as they made it to the other side of the street and over the barrier that kept the party from the parade. There was no attempt to blend in now. They were running, shoving people and ignoring the curses that followed them. At some point, Sara’s grip on Leonard’s sweater had shifted to his hand, clutching it as they ran.

Yanking her into an alley, Leonard ordered, “Take this street to Esplanade, go left, then go into the hotel on your right. There’s a room under the last name Scudder.”

“What are you doing?”

Leonard glanced back, but there was no one behind them that she could see. “Getting them off our tail.”

“I can help,” Sara insisted.

“Go, Doc.” When she hesitated, Leonard rolled his eyes. “Please.”

Hating herself, just a little, she ran. She darted down the alley, not slowing until she was among the crowds and in some cover again. Shoving past people and her heart stopping every time she saw a black jacket, Sara hugged her purse tightly against her side and followed Leonard’s directions. She had to squint to see the street signs in the masses, but she found her way to the hotel and waited in the shadows on the right.

And waited.

And waited.

She looked down the street, not seeing any movement. He hadn’t gotten here before her. And if it had been this long…

“Dammit,” she whispered and started to backtrack through the streets. She knew her chances were slim, but she couldn’t just wait and hope Thawne hadn’t caught up with him.

She moved slowly, trying to listen through the mayhem, checking alleys and dark corners. She wandered for nearly an hour before she realized it was hopeless. Turning back to head to the hotel again, Sara cut through a cemetery, hearing people chatting and wandering through even here. A voice hollered into the night and she jumped, trying to see who it was, and caught sight of a black jacket, half-hidden behind a mausoleum.

Praying her luck was holding out, Sara edged closer, around the other side. She saw another black jacket and heard the sound of a fist hitting something solid.

“I’ll just tell Darhk you struggled. He really won't mind.”

Sara would recognize Eobard’s voice anywhere. Holding her breath, she looked around the corner, seeing Eobard and one other guy in black. They had Leonard up against the wall of the mausoleum, the guard holding his arms back behind him while Eobard hit him. His backpack was on the ground, the strap torn, and he was bleeding from the lip. Neither Eobard nor the guard had a weapon drawn, nor were they on their phones. If she moved quickly enough -

Eobard punched Leonard and before he could recover his balance from the swing, Sara moved. The guard saw her for a half-second before and tried to shout out a warning. It was too late.

Eobard let out a grunt as Sara tackled him to the ground. She landed on top of him, rolling over one shoulder to get back to her feet and finding her balance. Struggling upwards, Eobard’s eyes narrowed. “Hello, Ms. Lance, I’ll enjoy-”

Sara hit him, the uppercut to his jaw making his teeth slam together with a satisfying crack. Before he recovered, she hit him twice more in his gut, knocking the wind out of him before turning to check on Leonard.

The guard holding him was now dealing with a bloody nose and an angry thief. Sara saw enough of Leonard’s punch to know that he was fine on his own. She focused on Eobard again.

He was still struggling to breathe, but getting to his feet and reaching into his jacket once more. Sara filled in his space, keeping him from pulling his elbow out and grabbing the gun through the lining of his coat to make sure he wouldn’t point it at her. She headbutted the monster, hearing a satisfying crack before his free hand reached up to grab her hair. He pulled hard and she felt her scalp scream as he yanked some of her hair out. Her head tipped back towards his hand in pain, and he used that to kick her leg and push her off balance. From the ground, she swung her leg out, catching his ankle, just as Leonard drove his knee into his opponent’s ribs, knocking him down.

Eobard rolled away from her, and she couldn’t get to her feet quickly enough to stop him from drawing his weapon. He pointed it at Sara for the second time in as many days, not smiling this time. His bloody mouth was drawn into a grimace and Sara took a step backward, panting a little.

He cocked the gun and Sara managed a tiny smile in the face of his anger, but in the instant before he fired, Leonard threw himself at Thawne.

She heard a gunshot go off, but Leonard and Thawne were on the ground and she couldn’t tell who -

“Hey!”

A flashlight cut through the cemetery grounds from alongside the mausoleum, and Sara heard the jingle of keys.

“Police!” a new voice called out.

The men separated, and Leonard managed to scramble away quickly enough to avoid the illumination of the flashlights. He hurried towards Sara and took her arm, leading her around the corner of the mausoleum and out of sight. From the sounds behind them, Eobard and his buddy weren’t so lucky.

She followed Leonard’s lead as he wound them through the crowds, up and down so many alleys that even she was confused about where she was. Add that to the crowds on the streets and the police delaying Eobard, and Sara felt like she could finally breathe.

“You were supposed to wait at the hotel,” Leonard said, his voice tight.

“Yeah, and you were supposed to not get caught,” Sara retorted.

He scoffed, but it lacked the usual irritation. The night finally seemed to be winding down, with dawn a few minutes away on the horizon. Bars and restaurants were turning out the people still going hard, and they poured into the streets, riling up the ones walking home with music and cheers, alcohol still flowing freely.

They happened across a smaller club that was closing its doors, and the crush of people exiting forced Sara to back up, bumping into Leonard, who stumbled. Sara reached out to steady him, but someone must have spilled their drink because -

Sara looked down at her hand, the bright red shocking in the growing dawn. Lifting the edge of Leonard’s sweater up, she gasped when she saw the stain blossoming.

Looking at him now, in the clearer light, without panic tinging her vision, she could see the lines around his eyes and the paleness of his skin. She thought that the gunshot had missed him. He never said anything.

“Leonard -”

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling far enough out of her reach that she let go of his sweater and it dropped down.

“You need to go to a hospital,” Sara hissed.

Leonard shook his head. “They’ll be watching hospitals. Especially now. Thawne knows he hit me.”

He was still walking, but she could see the shake in his hands now. Sara ducked under his arm and helped hold him upright. He let out another sigh but didn’t pull away this time.

“We could go to the police,” she suggested.

“Hunter will have turned us in by now. Wanted criminals. We’ll be arrested before we get close.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You broke his arm, Doc,” Leonard said, with an exhausted laugh. “I think that qualifies as assault on an officer.”

“Would it be so bad if I was arrested? I could tell them what happened -”

“And you’d have conveniently committed suicide in your cell by morning.” He looked down at her. “You think you’re the first person to try and speak out against Darhk? I doubt Hunter’s the only one in his employ.”

“I could get a message to Ray or Detective West in Central City,” Sara said. She recognized where they were now. The hotel was only one more block away.

“They’re watching them, too. You try to contact them, you give them anything, and Darhk’ll find some way to silence them.”

“What do we do?”

Leonard was quiet, but still moving, albeit much more slowly. Sara held onto the arm around her shoulders, keeping him upright.

“We’ve got to get you cleaned up,” she finally said.

He chuckled weakly, his face losing what little color was left. “‘A little water clears us of this deed.’”

They got to the hotel, and Sara managed to check them in and get the room key. It was on the third floor. Once in the elevator, Leonard sagged against the wall, barely standing.

Sara looked down, seeing her hands coated in red. The ding of the elevator was the only sound until Sara broke the silence.

“Why’d you do it?”

Leonard’s eyes were dangerously bright in his face as he met her gaze. The doors opened.

After a moment’s hesitation, Sara ducked beneath his arm again, helping him out of the elevator and towards the door. She inserted the key card and got him inside, putting up the “Do Not Disturb” sign and locking it behind them. Leonard pressed his hand against his side. “I need -”

“Just take off your sweater and lie down,” she interrupted, well aware of what he needed. Sara went into the bathroom, getting the washcloths and a towel.

Leonard winced as he pulled off his sweater, uncharacteristically without argument. Sara glanced at him as she got closer. The wound was bad, but it could have been worse. It was just one inch worse than a graze, but it was still bleeding and had been for a while.

Sara spread a towel on the bed as Leonard sat on the edge, then helped to ease him down. He grimaced but didn’t make a sound.

Sara sat next to him on the bed as she cleaned around the wound. It looked like it went through and through, and though it had bled a lot, it was slowing, so it probably hadn’t hit anything vital.

Keeping pressure on it, she saw Leonard’s eyes flutter once and twice, exhaustion or pain trying to drag him down.

“You’re going to be fine, Leonard,” she said quietly. “Long as you don’t do something like that again.”

“Thanks for the advice,” he mumbled.

Sara changed out the cloth, feeling guilt as he winced at the movement, the bleeding slowing somewhat as she kept pressure on it. Tears pressed at her eyes, a combination of fear and running and him being hurt and maybe this was all her fault, but if it was -

“Why’d you do it?” she asked, barely more than a whisper. “You didn’t have to.”

He smiled, just a bit. “Didn’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Sara shook her head, staring at the blood and ignoring the tear that slipped free. Or she would have.

_“‘C'est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes_. _'”_ Leonard reached up, brushing his knuckles over the tear to wipe it away. It fell a little heavier than it should have back onto the bed, and his eyes slid shut. “Don’t waste them on me, Doc.”

She touched his shoulder. “It’s...it’s Sara. Just Sara.”

“Sara,” he repeated quietly, half asleep.

He didn’t say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonard quoted MacBeth, and The Little Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupery in the original French, because he’s that Extra.


	12. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Il bacio (The Kiss) is an 1859 painting by the Italian artist Francesco Hayez. It is possibly his best known work. This painting conveys the main features of Italian Romanticism and has come to represent the spirit of the Risorgimento. It was commissioned by Alfonso Maria Visconti di Saliceto, who donated it to the Pinacoteca di Brera after his death.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Kiss_(Hayez)

She didn’t know how long she sat with Leonard. Long enough to make sure he was still breathing. Long enough to ensure that the bleeding had stopped. Long enough to be certain no one was going to come through the door and kill them.

Once she was certain of that, Sara washed up in the bathroom. She scrubbed her hands until they were almost raw, and she still felt like there was blood under the nails. Remembering Leonard’s comment earlier, Sara couldn’t help but think of MacBeth again:  _ Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? _

Leaning against the closed door, Sara wiped her face and eyes. Only when she felt like she had control over herself did she open the bathroom door.

The sunlight melted through even the curtains and illuminated enough that she could see Leonard still breathing shallowly on the bed. Sara, too tired to be worried about modesty, stripped off her sweat-soaked and bloodied shirt, peeled off the pants that had alcohol spilled on them repeatedly, and curled up beneath the blanket next to Leonard.

She was exhausted, but sleep was hard to find. Every time she nearly fell asleep, she woke in a panic, imagining she heard the door being opened, or she saw Eobard coming in through the window, or Leonard stopped breathing -

She laid on her side, watching him breathe instead. When sleep proved elusive, she memorized his profile and imagined she saw the faint shadow of stubble darken against his cheek and jaw as the time passed onward.

Giving up, she took a hot shower instead. Ducking her head under the stream, she tried to organize her thoughts.

Leonard had made it clear they couldn’t go to the police. He also made it clear that he didn’t think there was anything to be done. The auction was tonight and they had nothing - no way in, no backup, nothing. And she couldn’t even get a message to Ray, not with people watching his email…

She turned off the shower, frowning. Ray got hundreds of emails a day. Surely they didn’t read every single thing. If something seemed normal, maybe it would just pass by their notice.

Grabbing the extra set of her clothes from her purse, Sara got dressed quickly, sparing a quick moment to make sure Leonard was still breathing. His washcloth hadn’t bled through, but she changed it anyway, so she could track how much he was still bleeding, if at all. She grabbed her article, the list of names, and headed downstairs.

“Good morning, miss,” said the concierge. “Can I help you?”

Sara smiled, knowing that the bags under her eyes spoke volumes. “Do you have a work area? I have to send out some emails.”

“Of course. Right down that hall and to the left.”

Sara thanked him and followed the instructions, glad that the small office area didn’t open up to the street, just to the pool in the hotel. Sitting down, she opened up GMail first, and made a new account.

Then, with a small sigh of regret, she went through her article with a red pen, and began typing it up.

It took her over an hour and a half, even with the words already there. She had to get creative on occasion, but she managed to do it. Sitting back, she reviewed it once more.

> **To** :  [ R.Palmer@CCMA.org ](mailto:R.Palmer@CCMA.org)
> 
> **From** : JudithIsTheBest@gmail.com
> 
> **Subject** : 1st draft of article
> 
> Hey. Everything’s here. Let your friends see it, too. Please review as soon as you can.
> 
> Are the results not entirely predictable? Unlike the male hero, whose power, pride in power and blindness to vulnerability are both the qualities of his great- ness and the cause of his downfall, the female hero is by social decree perpetually aware of her essential vulnerability. Concluding one of the most important and pivotal chapters of the book, he perceived the allegorical and mythological archetypal figures - often feminine in form - that were used to signify masculine values. There can be no doubt that considerable theoretical diversity characterizes contemporary feminist interventions in and on cultural analysis in general, and art history in particular. It might, therefore, seem folly to invite the representative of one tradition to comment on the major oeuvre produced from within a different theoretical community. Ovidian stories, for example, featured a privileged naked woman. Naples holds one of her paintings.
> 
> The significance of her paintings of decapitation lies only partially in their function as images, an inflection in an iconography. Orazio, brought a case against the artist. Nancy writes: "because the female subject has juridically been excluded from the polis, her relation to integrity and textuality, desire and authority, is structurally different. In my insistence on such historicization of the study of women artists, the reader may well feel we have lost the celebratory and positive force. Garrard offers us both general and personal explanations for her uniquely sympathetic treatment of her. Her laconic comment is virtually the only reference to the nec- essary social and ideological context in which, and for which, she worked. This painting can be read as a transposition of silence, threatening the man with the violence that is regularly enacted on women, showing what that violence looks like, making it visible by inverting the gender of its agents...

It went on for another dozen pages, but she nodded, proud of her work. Tucking her article back under her arm, she went back upstairs, taking the elevator once again. She got to the room and unlocked the door, slipping in as quietly as she could.

The first thing she noticed was that the bed was empty. She had a moment of panic before she saw the figure in the bathroom.

Leonard stood in the doorway, a clean sweater and scowl back in place.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked.

Sara closed and locked the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

Leonard just glared at her, his eyes drifting down to the papers in her hand. “Is this about that damn article again?”

“No, it’s not what-”

He came forward and Sara was distracted by the fact that he limped slightly on the way, and wasn’t prepared for him to grab the article out of her hand, though she managed to hold onto the back few pages. He glanced over it and looked up, eyes hard. “Looks like it is.”

“Leonard -”

“Can’t you listen to a single thing I tell you?” Leonard snapped. “I said you couldn’t send anything and you risk us both over a damn article? The same article that you had to go back for at Damien’s? If I have to save you from your own stupidity one more time -”

“I’m sorry,” Sara interrupted, her anger warming her even more than the determined midmorning sun coming through the curtains, “but  _ I _ saved your ass from Thawne just last night. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead right now.”

“If it weren’t for you,” Leonard shot back crisply, “I wouldn’t have had to leave Damien’s house in the dead of night. I’d still be there, without any suspicion on me.”

“I didn’t tell them anything!” she said, glaring at him. “I don’t know how they knew, but it wasn’t me!”

“They wouldn’t have known anything, if you hadn’t bull-in-a-china-shopped your way into a delicate operation!” He took a half step towards her.

“Are we talking about your delicate forgery operation? The one that you were thrown out of? The one you were about to killed for?  _ That  _ delicate operation?” She took another step towards him, a magnetic force drawing her nearer.

“Do you want to know how many times I’ve been shot?”

“I really don’t care!”

“Zero, until you!” He strode nearer until he was so close that Sara had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye. “Your ability to throw a half-decent punch doesn’t outweigh the multitudes of trouble you get me into!”

“And if you could listen to me for three seconds,” Sara nearly shouted, “instead of being a smartass at every turn, maybe I could tell you that I sent a coded message to Ray with the names of every single buyer at the auction today!” They were toe to toe now.

Leonard blinked, and Sara handed over the paper at the back of her article, taking advantage of his silence. “I found it in Damien’s room. That’s why I had to get my purse.”

He read over the names and she could see the tension melt out of his shoulders. He was still close, but Sara refused to back up. He was quiet for a long time and Sara found herself filling the silence.

“I cut up my article and sent it with a fake email address,” Sara said, the temper fading. If anyone looks at it, it’ll just look like an article. But Ray -”

“You think he’ll see the code?” Leonard asked, still looking at the list.

“Ray sees secret messages in everything.”

“Why did you do it?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Why did you do it?” he repeated. He dropped the list on the bed and looked at her. “Why did you take the list? Why’d you send the message?”

“Why were you at my room?” Sara countered.

“Why were you at mine?”

Neither of them answered, but he also didn’t back away from her. Leonard smiled faintly, his eyes dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes.

“Is it just that you’re a good person?” he asked, slightly quieter. “Helping me because it’s the right thing to do?”

“I’m really not that good,” Sara admitted.

“Then why?”

Sara swallowed and Leonard edged a little closer. He lifted his hand towards her cheek, then hesitated.

“You gonna break my arm?” he asked, brow arched.

“Guess you’ll have to try and see.”

“I like my chances.”

He cupped the side of her face, then pressed his lips to hers, more gently than she would have anticipated. Despite knowing it was coming, she couldn’t help her sharp inhale at the first bit of contact before she settled into it. He tasted like something warm and it sent sparks through her skin, like starlight. Sara felt the faint flick of his tongue and leaned in nearer. He pulled back after a moment, though he was close enough that Sara still brushed his lips as she said, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I thought we weren’t friends,” Leonard added, his nose bumping against hers.

Sara laughed quietly. “Do you want to be just friends?”

“Not particularly. ‘‘Cause I can’t fight this feeling anymore, I’ve-’”

Sara grabbed his collar and pulled him down, kissing him hard and interrupting his rendition. He seemed to be on the same wavelength as her, his hands wrapping around her hips. His mouth was hard against hers, his teeth scraping against her lip.

Sara’s back hit the wall, her neck leaning back to keep his lips on hers. She felt his fingers start pulling at her blouse where it was tucked into her skirt, and had the wild thought to thank Ray for convincing her to pack her blue underwear.

Sara allowed her hands to explore beneath the sweater he’d managed to pull on between leaving him and her return to the room. The pads of her fingers caught on the lines of scars, but she kept exploring.

And to think, they could have been doing this instead of dealing with psychotic murderers for days.

Leonard deftly undid the buttons on her blouse and Sara helped to shrug it off. Leonard didn’t seem to care much for what she was wearing, wrapping his arm around the back of her neck and somehow pulling her even closer to him. The wall of the room wasn’t all that comfortable, so she pushed him backward towards the bed as she relieved him of his sweater. The scars were worse in the light, but they didn’t deter her. He’d somehow managed to get some sort of gauze and medical tape at some point to cover his wound.

Just before they reached the bed, Leonard turned, so she was the one falling back and he landed over her. Sara managed to roll her eyes and catch sight of his grin, but then he pressed his lips to her neck and she didn’t particularly care who was on top as long as he kept doing that.

She ran her hands over his neck and shoulders, his legs bracketing hers on top of the bed. Though she’d caught sight of his figure earlier, it had seemed inappropriate for her to really admire it, considering how in pain he’d been. Now, however, he seemed to be doing just fine and Sara admitted that being an art thief apparently kept him in great shape.

“Save the obvious, I’m almost glad Damien found out,” she laughed, feeling his hands tugging at the zipper of her skirt.

Leonard went still, one hand pulling away from her. He leaned back, his eyes tightening.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded, but she saw him pressing his hand against his side. When he drew it away, she saw fresh blood on his fingers. Sitting up and pulling back, Sara winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry -”

“It’s fine,” Leonard reassured her, though he turned and sat heavily on the side of the bed. His shoulders were tight, though, and Sara felt another pang of guilt.

“Leonard -”

“I was well aware of what I was doing,” he interrupted, “and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“You’re hurt,” Sara said, taking back her blouse as he passed it to her.

“And it was completely worth it.”

“It was stupid,” she argued, pulling her blouse on and buttoning it up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckled and turned to look at her. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

Sara frowned, unsure of how to respond.

Getting to his feet, Leonard picked up his sweater and pulled it over his head. Once it was settled, he looked down at her, still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry for underestimating you. If I hadn’t done that in Central City, maybe all of this would have turned out differently.” He smiled faintly. “I’d prepared for everything, except you.”

“That’s me, still messing up plans,” Sara said.

Leonard leaned down and kissed her again, slow and soft and sweet. He pulled back, “All of this was worth it, to meet you.”

“No poems this time?” she asked, the smile taking the sting out of her words.

He smiled and pressed another kiss to her lips. “No poems. No lies,” he murmured. “Just me. And you. And me and you. That alright?”

Sara kissed him back and that was answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sara thinks about Macbeth again.
> 
> The article Sara butchers is bits and pieces of a real article, made convenient for me. It’s a review of a book: Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art by Mary D. Garrard, which was reviewed by Griselda Pollack.  
> Pollock, G. (1990). The Art Bulletin, 72(3), 499-505. doi:10.2307/3045754
> 
> The song Sara interrupted was “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon


	13. Nighthawks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nighthawks is a 1942 oil on canvas painting by Edward Hopper that portrays people in a downtown diner late at night as viewed through the diner's large glass window. The light coming from the diner illuminates a darkened and deserted urban streetscape.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nighthawks_(painting)

A few minutes later, Sara looked at the piece of paper with the note she was supposed to deliver to a friend of Leonard’s. She wasn’t wearing what Thawne had seen her wearing when he was chasing her, but it was still a risk. “Are you sure about this?”

Leonard shrugged only one shoulder from where he sat on the bed. “Do you have a better idea?”

Sara cut her eyes at him. “You know I don’t.”

“I know.” His smile was still a little too small and tight; he was still in pain. He hadn’t bled through again, but he was too pale. “But this is the only way we can get out.”

“And you’re sure your friend will be there?” Sara asked again.

Leonard chuckled faintly. “Yes. I’m sure. They’ve been tailing me for months.”

She still hesitated, glancing between the note and Leonard. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Why alone?”

Because that was the thing that was most odd. Perhaps it was that Leonard was trying to prove that he trusted her, or he was in more pain than he was going to admit, but having her go alone seemed like a risk.

“They’ll be looking for the two of us together. In a crowd, you’ll pass more unnoticed,” he explained.

When Sara couldn’t come up with another argument, she merely nodded.

Leonard smiled faintly. “My friend will be wearing a blue shirt, sunglasses, jeans, and a pair of gloves. Sit at the table closest to the patio entrance, and order two coffees. Leave one alone. Oh, and -” he pulled off the ring on his right pinkie finger, and handed it to her. “Wear this.”

It was too large for her pinkie, so Sara put it on her middle finger. “Okay.”

“When you come back, don’t take the same way you did to get there. Wander for a while. Throw off anyone who might have seen you,” he reminded her.

Sara nodded.

Leonard got to his feet, a little slower than he normally did, and didn’t stand as straight. She made to take a step towards him but stopped. They were in some sort of weird position - a non-physical intimacy that Sara wasn’t entirely familiar with. She didn’t know how to act.

Leonard didn’t seem to share her reservations. He reached out and took the hand with the ring on it, running his thumb across the metal. “I like this ring. Bring it back in one piece.”

She scoffed, with an unwilling smile. “Of course.”

Lifting her hand, he kissed the back of it, right along the ring. “Good luck.”

Sara squeezed his fingers before she stepped back. “Thanks.”

Leonard’s mouth lifted slightly in a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She opened the door, then hesitated. Before she could overthink it, she turned back to Leonard, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. Leonard’s arms pulled her nearer, and she cursed Thawne for so many things, but the top of the list was Leonard’s bullet wound, for several reasons.

When she pulled away, the smile reached his eyes that time.

“Be careful, Doc,” he called.

“See you in a bit.”

Leaving the safety of the hotel, especially alone, after everything that had happened, was nerve-wracking. The light of day made it feel a little safer, but she knew that it wouldn’t be enough to stop Damien or Thawne. Every cop on the street made her double-take, every dark jacket made her heart skip a beat, and she was certain she would panic before she reached the cafe Leonard had directed her to go to, but before she knew it, she was there.

The small cafe was quaint and, luckily, not too busy. Sara had to jump in quickly to get the correct table outside, the iron chairs not particularly comfortable, but sun-warm. The coffee she ordered was excellent, though she couldn’t manage more than a sip or two as her stomach turned, anxiety making her fidget, even though she couldn’t identify the source.

Leonard had warned her that his contact didn’t have a specified time, so she might be waiting a while. Preparing to sit for a while, Sara was startled when after just five minutes, a figure approached her table.

The man was massive and his head was clean-shaven. He was wearing a blue shirt and gloves, but Sara figured the height and scarred forearms would have been a better indication of who he was than his clothes. The sunglasses were on, so Sara couldn’t see his eyes, but the way he loomed over the table made it clear who he was looking at.

Sara very deliberately reached for her coffee, the silver ring glinting in the sunlight.

The man grunted, and pulled out the chair across from her, the iron screeching against the cobblestones. Tugging off his sunglasses, he looked at her.

“So, Snart found a new friend,” he all but growled.

“It wasn’t planned,” Sara assured him. “I’m Sara.”

He snorted, crossing his massive arms in front of him. His eyes darted behind her and Sara felt almost relieved. “Mick. Did he give you a message for me?”

Sara nodded, but frowned, looking down at the word that seemed so out of place for this man. “Yeah.” She recited the word from the paper. “Alexa.”

Mick’s eyes widened, and his lips parted in shock.

That wrong feeling, the sinking in her stomach, intensified with that expression. “Mick?”

“Where is that self-sacrificing bastard?” Mick hissed, leaning forward.

Sara put it together and got to her feet. She started leading the way towards the hotel at a jog, unable to go faster due to the crowds. “He was hurt last night, we had to go to a hotel he had under the name of Scudder.”

“Shit,” Mick swore, picking up the pace as he figured out the route. “Alexa’s our code red. Scudder’s the one I was here to follow. He picked up Snart’s trail a while ago and I saw him meeting with that museum asshole -”

“Merlyn,” Sara added, keeping pace with him.

“That’s him.”

“When was that?”

“Two days ago? Three?”

Sara set her jaw. “That’s who told Damien about Leonard. And if he was using Scudder’s name -”

“Darhk could track you there. Boss probably figured it out and sent you here to keep out of trouble. He does dumb shit like that.”

They made it to the hotel in record time, and though Mick tried to stop her, Sara ran up to the stairwell and started up to their floor.

“Wait, Blondie,” Mick whispered, as she went to throw open the door. He moved past her and edged it open slowly, peering out. Sara squeezed in beside him and looked out at the hallway.

The door to the room was ajar, and Sara could hear voices coming out of it. She recognized Rip’s voice and clenched her fists. She was about to move when Mick grabbed her arm.

It was a good thing because the door opened and not just Rip, but Eobard and three of his goons came out, too. Apparently Rip had thrown his weight around to get him released quickly.

Between them walked Leonard, standing upright, but his arm grasped by Eobard. Sara could see from the angle Thawne was holding his free hand that he probably was aiming his gun at Leonard, too.

Mick edged them back, but Rip led him to the elevator. Sara glared at the cop’s head, wishing she’d broken more than just his arm.

She tried to step forward as the doors shut, but Mick held her back. “Nothing you can do but get yourself caught, Blondie. He wouldn’t want that.”

The doors closed and Sara cut her eyes at Mick. “How do you know that?”

“Because he sent you to me. He knew they’re mostly after him. If he got caught, they’ll ease up a bit on you for now.”

“But what do we do?” Sara asked.

“Come on,” Mick answered, tugging her back down the stairs. They left the stairwell as Rip, Thawne, and Leonard were stepping out and into a black car. Mick gestured for her to wait there, hurrying out into the street to summon a cab, his eyes fixed on the retreating car. As he waved at Sara, she ran across the lobby and jumped into the cab beside him.

“Follow that car,” Mick ordered.

The cabbie snorted, unsurprised by the command, and turned on the meter without a word of complaint. The cab lurched forward, cutting between crowds without a care and keeping the black car in sight. For ten minutes, nothing was said as they followed the black car.

“They’re heading back to his house,” Sara murmured, familiar with the route as they pulled onto Damien’s street.

Mick nodded, leaning forward again. “When the car stops, keep going on to -” Mick gave him a different address.

“Got it,” the cabbie said, unconcerned.

They passed by Damien’s driveway as the gate was closing, and Sara couldn’t help but sink back into her seat in defeat.

“What now?”

Mick patted her awkwardly on the arm. “Just hang in there, Blondie.”

They didn’t talk as the cabbie dropped them outside a small house a few streets away. It was such an odd place for Mick to lead her to, with the white picket fence and porch with the small potted daffodils, but she didn’t ask as he unlocked the front door and opened it for her.

They stepped through and Sara immediately turned on Mick.

“What do we do?”

“There’s no ‘we’ here, Blondie. I’m gonna go in and get him out.”

“How?”

“Fire’s always worked before.”

Sara wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, but she treated it as if he was. “There are guards everywhere. You wouldn’t get close enough to set fire to anything.”

“So what’s your big plan, then?” he asked.

She hesitated, her mouth open.

Mick scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He walked into the small kitchen and Sara trailed after him. “Tell me about the place.”

“Armed guards on a patrol, usually at night,” she said. “Thawne is in charge of them and he’s a world-class bastard.”

There was a small snort, but Sara kept going.

“The wall has a pressure sensor and barbed wire along the top of it, and there’s a guard at the gate at the front.”

Mick shook his head slightly. “That wouldn’t stop him. He can get out of that.”

“He did, the other night.”

“So he can do it again.”

“But he won’t, that’s the problem.”

“Why not?”

“The buyers are all going to be there tonight, including the Immortal.”

That made him stop and look at her. “What?”

“The Immortal will be there tonight,” she repeated.

“Shit.”

Sara wrapped her arms around herself. “They’re going to kill him.”

“Them or the Immortal, yeah.”

She hung her head. “We can’t just let him die.”

“I’m still on board for setting the house on fire.”

She leaned against the cabinets in the tiny kitchen, watching Mick go to the small fridge and pull out a beer. He didn’t offer her one, but Sara wasn’t in the mood for it anyway.

“What if I just walk in?” Sara asked.

Mick ignored her, obviously not thinking highly of that idea.

“They’ll shoot you on sight,” she continued, “but they’ll want to bring me in front of Damien.”

“And then what?”

“Find a way to help Leonard get away from them.”

“That’s stupid, and he’ll be pissed at me for letting you do that.”

“Who cares if he’s pissed?” Sara argued. “As long as he’s alive!”

Mick glared at her. “You’re just going to get yourself killed.”

“I wasn’t really asking for your permission.”

He stared at her for a long, long moment, then let out a small, mirthless chuckle. “I can see why he likes you.”

Sara wasn’t moved, her split knuckles and bruised hands aching as she crossed her arms defiantly.

“This is a bad plan,” he said finally.

“Got a better one?”

That made him laugh again, with some real humor that time. “Alright. What do you need from me?”

She was about to say nothing, when she had a thought. It was a slim chance, but if it worked, it would make an impossible task easier.

“How do you feel about reporting a few crimes?”


	14. Peasants Brawling over Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adriaen Brouwer was a Flemish painter active in Flanders and the Dutch Republic in the first half of the 17th century. Brouwer was an important innovator of genre painting through his vivid depictions of peasants, soldiers and other 'lower class' individuals engaged in drinking, smoking, card or dice playing, fighting, music making etc. in taverns or rural settings.  
> https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Adriaen_Brouwer_-_Peasants_Brawling_over_Cards.jpg

All things considered, Sara really did like New Orleans.

She walked down the sidewalk, her heels clicking against the paving stones as jazz music rang out from invisible clubs down the street. People treated it all as a giant party, even the day after Mardi Gras. Streamers and glitter still covered the street, beads littering every fencepost and light pole as far as she could see. The smell of coffee and baked goods pervaded the air, the sweetness of syrup and liquor weaving between. She was even getting used to the humidity, though she’d never learn to love it. She’d adjusted enough to raid the closet of the house Mick was living in and found a nice black and white blouse with a dark sweater. Mick still didn’t explain whose house it was, and Sara wasn’t interested enough to ask.

Tonight, though, not even the sights and smells of New Orleans were enough to distract her now. She glanced at the watch she’d taken from Mick, it was far too big on her wrist, but sufficient enough to tell the time. Five to six. Right on time.

Sara stepped around the corner, right along the fence of Darhk’s property. She kept her eyes forward and focused on the gate. As she watched, a car pulled up and was let through the gate, the heavy metal closing behind it.

Lifting her chin slightly, Sara walked directly to the guardhouse. This was the part she was most worried about.

The man on duty was someone she’d seen in passing, though she never learned his name. His eyes widened when he saw her, no purse or coat to hide any sort of weapon. Taking advantage of his shock, Sara said, “I believe Mr. Darhk is expecting me.”

The guard hesitated but pressed the button to open the gate, just enough for her to get in. He drew his gun, but Sara wasn’t phased. She walked through the gap, waited for the guard to close it behind her, and allowed him to herd her up the driveway to the house.

It was a long walk, and Sara found it hard to keep her mind on track. She thought about the cypress trees along either side of the driveway, hiding the patrols, and the lights glowing from the beautiful house, full of murderers and psychopaths. She thought about all the lies in there, which only a few of them knew. The fake artwork owned by all of the buyers, and the fact that one man in there was the Immortal.

And that Leonard was somewhere in there.

She lifted her eyes up to her old room, only visible for a few yards as the drive began to turn, and noted that they hadn’t replaced the vase of roses in there. For some reason, that made her smile. She’d broken the perfect image, even if it was the smallest of ways.

In front of the house, there were an easy dozen or so cars. Just from eyeing them, Sara figured there were eighteen people, aside from Darhk’s usual cars. Merlyn was probably inside, as was Thawne. Maybe even Rip. That would be convenient.

The guard holstered his gun as they got to the front doors, obviously not wanting to cause a scene. Sara had no intention of causing a scene, not just yet.

Music escaped out with the light as the guard opened the door, taking her elbow as if she was just in danger of tripping. Dozens of men in suits with highball glasses and expensive-looking phones and wallets milled around in the foyer, wandering in and out of the parlor and dining room, though the ballroom was still closed off. Servants wove their way through the partygoers, carrying trays and hors d'oeuvres, glasses of champagne. Despite all the danger and the risk to her life and Leonard’s, she couldn’t help her smile. It was all such a farce, all of this. All of these rich people, breaking the laws and murdering people, for artwork that had no more value than a poster from a museum gift shop.

“Nice party,” was all she said.

The guard squeezed her elbow warningly and started her towards the stairs, but they were intercepted just before the first step.

“Excuse me,” a man said.

The guard hesitated but didn’t let go of her arm.

“Excuse me,” the man repeated, “but are you Dr. Sara Lance?”

Sara smiled at the swarthy man with his pointed goatee. “I am, yes.”

“I thought you were,” he said, smiling. His accent was faint, but definitely there - Russian? Croatian? It was hard to tell. “I have to say, Dr. Lance, I loved your article on the use of light in Caravaggio's work.”

“Thank you so much, Mr…?”

“Mr. Savage,” he filled in, with another pointed smile.

“Mr. Savage,” she repeated. “It’s a pleasure to find someone who appreciates the technique behind the art, not just the end result.”

“And you write it so well, Dr. Lance,” Savage said. “I actually had some questions about your article, if you have some time.”

Sara gave him another big smile, but the guard squeezed her arm tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” Sara said, “but I actually have a meeting with Mr. Darhk presently. I would love to discuss it with you during the auction, though.”

“Wonderful. I look forward to it, Dr. Lance.”

The guard pushed her up the stairs as soon as Savage turned away. Sara tried not to smile too widely, but she was fairly certain she failed.

The guard led her to Darhk’s bedroom, which was not surprising. Sara took in a small breath just before the door opened, fixing her disinterested expression into place. It was a good thing she did, too.

As she entered, she saw Darhk in one seat and Merlyn in another, with Thawne standing behind Darhk. The third seat was occupied by the only person she was looking for.

Leonard was in a new suit, with a new black eye and split lip to go with it. As soon as he saw her enter the room, Leonard went very still, except for his hands, which gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Sara could only spare him a short glance because she wasn’t certain she could keep her disinterest up. Leonard’s eye darted between hers, and she could see his frustration and worry.

“Mr. Darhk,” the guard said, “she came right up to the guardhouse and -”

“Leave,” Darhk interrupted.

The door shut behind the guard, and no one spoke for a moment.

Darhk was nonplussed, and it satisfied her to no small degree. “What are you - To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I’m here for the auction, of course.”

“Oh, you are?” Darhk asked. 

Thawne grinned, reaching under his coat.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Sara said, going to the sidebar in Darhk’s sitting room. She poured herself a glass of scotch, turning her back to the men in the room, ignoring Thawne’s angry noise. Only when her cup was decently full did she turn back around and take a casual sip. “There are dozens of people downstairs, including the illustrious Immortal, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to draw any undue attention to yourself by firing a gun inside.” She took another sip and watched Thawne blink. “I doubt most of them are as comfortable with murder as the people in this room.”

Darhk scoffed quietly, but she saw Leonard’s reluctant smile.

“Ms. Lance,” Darhk started, getting to his feet.

“It’s Dr. Lance,” she countered.

Leonard really smiled then, and Sara spared him a quick glance.

“Your confidence is...baffling,” Darhk began, “and the fact that you walked in here -”

“After walking out the other night.”

Merlyn’s eyes went wide and he covered his mouth, to hide a gasp or a smile, she wasn’t sure.

Darhk glared and continued, “- indicates a lack of intelligence, but as I know that you’re very clever, I’m at a loss as to why you’re here.”

“Your inability to understand isn’t surprising, considering your collection downstairs.” Sara took another sip of her drink.

“How dare you?” Darhk asked, his voice rising as he got to his feet. “You think I won’t -”

There was a knock at the door and Darhk went silent. Thawne looked at him, waiting for his nod. When it was given, Thawne crossed to the door and opened it.

The darker man from downstairs entered, and Damien forced an awkward smile onto his face. “Mr. Savage, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but I’m dealing with some unfinished business.”

“And monopolizing Dr. Lance in the process,” Savage said, smiling at her. “I was so looking forward to speaking with her.”

Sara smiled back and tipped her drink at him.

“Of course, that’s before I realized you had some other company.” Savage closed the door behind him and nodded at Malcolm. “Mr. Merlyn, I enjoy your work. And Mr. Thawne, your reputation is no less illustrious, though more impressive in all the wrong ways.”

Then Savage’s eyes landed on Leonard. “And my old friend, Mr. Leonard Snart.”

Sara’s breath stopped, but so did everyone else’s in the room. He knew Leonard’s name, but that meant -

Leonard smiled, somehow still looking more composed than any of the other men. “Hello, Mr. Savage. Or is it the Immortal today?”

“Oh, the Immortal is such a mouthful, as codenames always are,” Savage waved his hand. “Though I was always partial to yours, Captain Cold.”

“So was I,” Leonard said, the moniker in perfect play as he smiled politely.

Damien recovered quickest, save for Leonard, and stood to offer Savage a drink.

“Oh,” Savage said, “no, thank you. I don’t drink when I’m working.” He went for Merlyn’s seat and stared, very obviously, until Merlyn gave up his chair and stepped aside, moving to the window.

“So, I know everyone in this room individually, but I’m very curious as to how you all know one another.” Savage moved his finger between all of them. “And I’m especially interested in Dr. Lance over there.”

Sara smiled at him.

“Mr. Savage,” Damien began.

“No, no, I always love cracking open puzzles.” He smiled, pointed teeth appearing between his thin lips. “Mr. Snart infiltrated your operation, what...two, three years ago? It would have taken that long to ingratiate himself here, provided Damien isn’t completely incompetent.”

Damien drew in a short breath, the heat appearing in his cheeks as the anger started building up.

“It did take some time,” Leonard admitted. 

“Still,” Savage said. “It is impressive, especially considering that you had all sorts of people after you, including me. I’m amazed at how long you eluded me, even though you were right under my nose. I’ve never had to try so hard to kill someone before.” Leonard inclined his head as if it was a compliment. “And Dr. Lance,” Savage said, turning his cold eyes to her. “You came to New Orleans and stumbled across one of Malcolm’s less than sufficient forgeries?”

Sara took another sip of her drink, not letting her eyes drop from Savage’s.

“You put some of the pieces together, which led you here.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “What I’m confused about, is what exactly you were planning to accomplish tonight? Are you trying to shut down my operation? Get vengeance on Mr. Thawne for his overt sexism? Expose Mr. Merlyn as a fraud and forger? Smear what’s left of Mr. Darhk’s reputation?”

“All of them, at one point or another,” Sara admitted. “But tonight it’s about something completely unrelated.”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly as he seemed to figure out the puzzle. “Oh, Dr. Lance, is this a matter of the heart?” He looked over at Leonard, still smiling that cold, expressionless smile. “Did you melt the frozen heart of Captain Cold?”

“Well, you know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Sara responded, not looking at Leonard.

“It’ll end in tears, I promise you. I’ve had experience in these matters.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Savage let out a long sigh. “Well, Mr. Darhk, I am so very impressed at how royally you’ve managed to screw up this entire operation. The worst case is complete exposure. Best case is the two bodies of Dr. Lance and Mr. Snart, and that’s two too many bodies -”

“Not including the body in Central City,” Leonard said.

“And Simon from the storage center,” Sara added, turning to pour some more scotch.

She heard someone moving and managed to brace herself that when the hand grabbed the back of her neck, she wasn’t slammed against the sideboard. Jamming her heel down, she heard a hiss of pain and shoved her elbow back into her attacker’s diaphragm.

When she turned, it wasn’t Thawne who had rushed her, but Damien himself, wheezing. Leonard was out of his seat, but Thawne had grabbed his arm and drawn his gun, Merlyn had backed up against the wall to stay out of the way, and Savage was right where he had been, still smiling.

“Well, that’s interesting. Two bodies already, Mr. Darhk?”

“Mr. Savage - Immortal,” Darhk stuttered, still trying to catch his breath. “It was unavoidable, the first man had been trying to run with the copies, and Simon was an attendant at the storage facility where we kept the other paintings.”

She met Leonard’s eyes for a moment, and he gave her a tiny nod.

“You mean the copies,” Sara said clearly.

The Immortal looked at her, without the guise of a smile, just a hard, remorseless pair of cold eyes. “Oh, Dr. Lance. That is so very disappointing.”

It was perfectly on cue that now was the moment they heard the sirens cutting through the music and chatter downstairs. Everyone froze.

Malcolm, closest to the window, moved first and pulled open the curtain. The blue and red lights reflected off the glass as the cop cars proceeded up the driveway, straight to Damien’s house.

“What?” Savage said, getting to his feet with a hiss.

Damien turned to Sara, his eyes wide. “What did you do?” He reached out for her, but Sara managed to pull just far enough away that he missed. “Why are they here?”

Sara smiled. “They’re here for me.”


	15. Romeo Stabs Paris at the Bier of Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Henry Fuseli
> 
> "Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd."
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Fuseli#/media/File:Romeo_stabs_Paris_at_the_bier_of_Juliet.jpg

The room was frozen for half a second before everyone seemed to move at once.

Savage started for the door and Sara darted after him, blocking the escape route.

“Move, Dr. Lance.” Savage glared at her.

“Don’t think so.”

Behind Savage, though, Sara could see Thawne and Leonard grappling for Thawne’s gun, and though Merlyn was staying out of it for now, Sara saw Damien regaining his breath and his eyes were fixated on Leonard.

Leonard grunted as Thawne managed to shove an elbow into his stomach. Sara’s eyes darted between Savage and Leonard.

“Decisions, decisions,” Savage whispered. “Me or him?”

Sara narrowed her eyes at him but moved away from the door just in time to intercept Damien just before he could jump in on the fight with Leonard.

Damien narrowed his eyes at Sara as she got in the way. “You are becoming a true irritation!”

“Good,” Sara said, balling up her fists.

Damien swung his arm towards her, and Sara blocked it, stepping in close. He tried to punch her, but fist-fighter was not one of the former mayor’s accomplishments. Luckily, it was one of Sara’s.

She slammed her fist into his side, feeling something give just a bit. Damien drew in a sharp breath and threw his hand wildly towards her face.

Catching his fist, Sara twisted it up and away from her. “Remember how I had to go to Metropolis for a year?” Sara asked. “This was why.”

With a vicious wrench, Sara pulled the same move on Damien that she had on Rip, with the same, satisfying sound.

Damien shouted and pulled away from her, clutching his arm, eyes wide. He was hunched over in pain and Sara took a step to loom over him.

“You - you’re -”

She lunged forward, but Damien eluded her, fear giving him the speed he needed. He ducked under her arm and went towards the open door. Sara hesitated, looking back. At some point, Merlyn had vanished, but Thawne and Leonard were still grappling, with Thawne gaining the upper hand, ever so slowly.

Sara started towards him, grabbing Damien’s discarded glass from the side table and slamming it across the back of Thawne’s head. He stumbled, just enough to let Leonard go, and the gun they’d been fighting over slid across the ground. Thawne, bleeding from the head, threw himself over a chair as Leonard kicked the other chair into his path.

Sara grabbed the back of Thawne’s shirt, trying to drag him back as Leonard went for the gun, but Thawne turned, and Sara saw the flash of metal before a booming crack echoed through the room. She heard glass shatter behind her and her ears were ringing.

Leonard grabbed the gun and another shot went off, this one towards the ceiling. Distantly, she heard people shouting below, and the sound of cracking wood as the doors were broken down. Twisting Thawne’s arm around, Leonard aimed the barrel at Thawne’s shoulder and -

Another crack as the gun went off, and Thawne screamed, blood pouring from his shoulder. Leonard managed to pull the gun from his limp grasp and looked up at Sara, brows drawn tight together in concern.

“Are you -?”

“I’m fine,” she told him.

“Sara,” Leonard insisted, grabbing her shoulder.

“I’m fine. He missed,” Sara assured him, reaching up to squeeze his hand. “But Savage ran, we’ve got to hurry.”

Leonard stared at her for another second, then nodded. With the gun in one hand, he started towards the door. Sara followed behind him, glancing down the staircase. It was chaos.

People were running in every direction, the doors were hanging open, and cops in SWAT gear were advancing on the premises, ordering people to the ground. Some obeyed and some, Sara saw, got tazed as they still attempted to run. Leonard moved quickly to the wing he had been staying in. All the doors were open, but he went down the hall anyway, glancing into each of them, Sara on his heels.

As they were exiting Leonard’s former room, a door slammed on the other side of the second floor, and Leonard’s head swung towards the sound. The cops below were still swarming below, but she knew it was only a matter of moments before they made their way upstairs.

Quickly, Sara and Leonard moved around the banister, down the hallway Sara had once been far too familiar with - her old room at the end.

There were doors on either side of them. Leonard gestured for her to stay back, and opened the first one, peering in. When nothing happened, he moved onto the next one. Another dud. The third door -

The door swung open as soon as Leonard touched it. A lamp shattered across Leonard’s arm and he winced, drawing back. “Merlyn! I don’t have time for this!”

“Too bad, Mr. Snart!” Merlyn threw the door open and grabbed Leonard’s arm, pushing the gun away and out of Leonard’s hand. It hit the ground and bounced, skidding out of reach. Merlyn threw a punch and Leonard dodged it easily. Sara grabbed the gun and turned.

Grasping the edge of the door, Leonard slammed it shut on Merlyn’s head and shoulder, dazing him long enough for Sara to flip the gun in her hand and hit Merlyn with the butt of the gun. Merlyn’s eyes rolled back and he crumpled, unmoving.

Leonard looked back at Sara. “Thanks for the assist.”

“You had it,” Sara said, handing the gun back to him.

The door of her former room shut and, with a shared glance, the two of them moved towards it. The chaos from downstairs made sounds unidentifiable up here. They hurried to the room, not really bothering to keep their steps quiet.

“Stay behind me,” Leonard murmured, lifting the gun in his hand a little.

He reached her room and slowly turned the handle. Peering in the tiniest gap he could, he clearly didn’t see anything, because he stepped in slowly. He was looking towards the open window and lowered his weapon a little. “I think Savage -”

From her spot at the door, Sara saw a figure step out from behind the bathroom door, the glint of metal being lifted up and pointing at Leonard’s back.

“Leonard!” Sara called, even as she darted forward. He turned, but not before Sara heard two popping sounds.

Leonard’s eyes went wide and Sara panicked for a second, thinking somehow Damien had hit him anyway. But then the pain swelled up and she listed to the side, catching herself on the bed frame before she fell.

Sara flinched as she heard more gunshots ringing out above her head, but Leonard seemed to be fine, stepping forward towards Damien, apparently without a care in the world. He stood straight, not even attempting to make himself a smaller target, but he didn’t flinch as the noise echoed in the room. Behind her, there was a thud, and the sound of a little gasp she’d never be able to forget. Then there was nothing.

Leonard dropped to his knees next to Sara, the gun falling heedlessly to the ground. She blinked a few times, the room swimming around her. “Are you okay?” she managed to ask, her words feeling clumsy.

“Am I - ?” Leonard repeated with a disbelieving noise. “Jesus, Doc, what the hell were you thinking?” he cursed, leaning around her slightly to look at her back. There wasn’t any blood on her front, which meant the bullets were still in her. He pressed hard where it hurt the most, and Sara couldn’t help a whimper of pain.

Leonard winced in sympathy. “Sorry.”

“Only fair,” Sara managed. “It was my turn.”

He laughed without any mirth at all, his face pale beneath the bruises. “Why’d you do such a stupid thing?”

“Why’d you send me away?” she asked.

Leonard still wouldn’t meet her eye, the lines around his deepening even as she watched. “I was trying to keep you safe. Then you come here and...I thought you were smarter than this.” He helped her sit on the ground, leaning against the bed.

“Didn’t have much of a choice.” It was easier to talk now, it didn’t hurt so much anymore, that was probably bad, right?

“Of course you had a choice.”

“Yeah,” she laughed weakly. “I chose you.”

Leonard looked up for the first time to meet her gaze. “Stay with me now, Doc, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

The noises were growing louder. They didn’t have long. “Savage?” she asked.

Leonard just shook his head as he grabbed one of the blankets from the bed, pressing them to Sara’s back. His hands were covered in red, she noticed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You need to go after him,” she said quietly.

“It’s not important.”

“If you stay, they’ll arrest you.” Her eyes sank for a moment, and she said, “Give me the gun.”

Leonard frowned. “Doc.”

She reached for it instead, hissing in pain, and Leonard moved, passing it to her. Holding it, Sara moved her hand, smearing any fingerprints that may have been left and leaving hers in their place before it dropped to the ground, too heavy for her now.

“There’s nothing you can do for me the cops won't do in a minute,” she told him. “You have to go. Now.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said.

She could hear footsteps on the stairs, heavy boots and the shouts of “Police!” getting ever closer. Sara didn’t look away from Leonard.

Sara blinked slowly. “You know the Immortal. You’re the only one who can get him.”

“Sara,” Leonard said, cupping her face in his hand. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re not. I’m telling you to go.”

The voices were getting louder, they were going to be here any minute.

Sara grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled him in close. The kiss was hard, and it hurt, but it didn’t matter, because everything hurt right now, her back, her knuckles, her heart. Leonard held her face, keeping her as close to him as possible. Breaking away, he pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered something, but it was lost as the door to the bedroom was hit once - twice - three times.

As it swung open, Leonard’s fingers were just disappearing over the windowsill. The cops probably would have gone to the window had Sara not slumped to the side, Damien’s body a few feet from her.

“Are you Dr. Lance?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head, letting her red hand fall to the side.

The cop winced in sympathy, then touched her arm. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now.”

Sara forced a smile and managed a tiny thanks, but she didn’t feel relieved. Other cops surrounded Damien and seemed to be checking for signs of life. Outside the door, Sara saw more standing alongside an unconscious Merlyn and an angry-looking Thawne.

As the cops called down to an EMT, they lowered Sara to the ground. Everything still hurt, but it was a dull ache and she felt so very tired.

Her head lolled toward the window Leonard had disappeared out of. The window he’d climbed through to explain things and where they’d quoted  _ Romeo and Juliet _ to one another. 

Sara let out a little laugh even as she felt a tear escape, realizing that somewhere between walking away from him in Central City and running towards him in a New Orleans cemetery, she’d fallen in love with the criminal who quoted poetry at her window and vanished out of it.

Unexpectedly, another quote from the Bard entered her head:

_ These violent delights have violent ends _

_ And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, _

_ Which, as they kiss, consume. _

She was very tired, so Sara closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 6


	16. Waiting For The Mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting for the Mail, painted by New Deal artist Grant Christian, illustrates a young woman anxiously waiting for a letter. Painted under the governmental Works Progress Administration, many New Deal era paintings encapsulated processing, delivering, and receiving mail as common themes in murals.
> 
> https://usart.weebly.com/1920s1930s-depression--new-deal.html

Sara’s head felt muffled in layers of cotton, pressing around her head. She tried to move, but something was holding her hand in place. The pressure from her hand shifted up to her shoulder, rubbing gently. Someone was here with her.

Eagerly, Sara tried to swim up through the muffled aches and back into complete consciousness. Her side stung and bits and pieces of the night came back to her, but she pushed through, relishing the pain if it meant she could open her eyes. Sara blinked away the haze of medicine, sleep, and pain to look up -

At Ray.

“Hey, Sara,” he said, smiling widely. “Welcome back.”

Sara cleared her throat, trying not to let the disappointment she felt show on her face, especially when she saw how tired Ray looked and the tears already starting to fill his eyes as he stared at her. “What are you doing here?” she murmured, her throat scratchy. “Where are we?”

“New Orleans East Hospital,” Ray said, tempering his voice down to a lower decibel when she winced. “You’ve been here for four days. So much for an easy trip, huh?”

She gave him her best attempt at a smile. “You owe me some vacation time.”

Ray laughed quietly, wiping his eyes. “You’re definitely getting a raise.”

“What happened?” she asked, trying to sit up. She could feel a thick bandage on her side and the faint effects of a fading dose of morphine in her skin. Ray helped her into a more upright position, hovering as she settled into place. He poured a glass of water and brought it over and Sara gratefully took a few sips, ridding herself of that stale taste of hospital air.

“Well, I got your email,” he said, once she looked at him again. “I knew something was wrong because you weren’t answering my calls and your messages didn’t sound like you.”

“Rip,” Sara gasped, “Rip Hunter was -”

The door opened, and Detective West, in civilian clothes, entered the room.

“Working with Darhk, yeah,” West said with a grimace. “We know.” He took the other seat in the room. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Lance. If I’d known, I never would have -“

“I know,” Sara interrupted kindly. “He had a lot of people fooled. But you caught him?”

“He gave himself up,” West corrected.

Sara frowned and looked at Ray.

“I was getting to that. When I got your email, I went straight to Detective West, who I’d already told of my suspicions. The two of us contacted NOPD and shared our concerns, and they blew us off. So we got on a plane and headed here. Midway through the flight, they called back and started asking questions. Apparently, Wednesday night, they got several calls reporting some crimes.” Ray looked at her, but Sara didn’t explain. “A missing worker at a storage center, the missing Dr. Lance, who was last seen heading to Damien Darhk’s, a missing financial advisor named Leonard Wynters, and a suspicious person climbing the wall to Damien’s house. NOPD started putting it together and questioned Detective Hunter. He confessed everything.”

“He confessed?” Sara echoed.

“He told the cops everything. How he killed the young man at the facility,” West said, sounding tired. “Kidnapping you, faking your messages to Mr. Palmer, the fact that Mr. Wynters was back at Damien’s place, the auction. Everything.”

“He still had some decency then,” Sara said quietly. “That’s good.”

“He wanted to apologize to you in person,” Ray said, “but I told him I’d pass it along.” When Sara frowned at him, Ray didn’t look apologetic in the slightest. “He hurt you. He wasn’t getting near you again.”

Sara squeezed his hand a little. “What about the others? Damien? Merlyn? Thawne?”

“Malcolm Merlyn and Eobard Thawne are both in jail, awaiting their trial. Malcolm will get off a little easier, as all we have him on is forgeries and conspiracy. Thawne, on the other hand, has several murder charges being leveled against him, along with assault.”

Waiting, Sara wasn’t totally surprised when West hesitated, clearing his throat. “Mr. Dahrk died en route to the hospital.”

The two men looked at her and Sara remembered that it looked like she had killed him. Even if she had, she didn’t think she would feel any regret at all about it. Damien had done his damnedest to kill her and Leonard; he deserved what he got. “Savage?”

West let out a frustrated sound. “Merlyn has been cooperative. We’re working hard to track Savage down. There’s an FBI team and Interpol, as it’s crossed state and country lines. It wasn’t looking good for a while. We had worked every name you’d given us, but we were hitting dead ends the very first day.”

Ray grinned, leaning forward, “But then they got a letter the next morning.”

“What letter?”

West cut his eyes at Ray. “Yes, the letter. It used the same code you did in your email to Ray. The first letter of each sentence spelled a message.”

“What was the message?” Sara asked.

“The message said: ‘Savage in Paris. Leaves Fri.,’” West answered. “We sent a team but -”

“They missed him,” Ray said impatiently. “But that’s not important.”

“It’s not?” Sara asked. “Getting Savage is -”

“Okay, fine!” Ray said, “It is important, but even better is the second part of the message.”

“There was a second part?” Sara sat forward, her heart somewhere in her throat.

Ray grinned widely at her. “The second part said: ‘Tell Doc I said hi.’”

* * *

A few months and some physical therapy and psychiatrist visits later, Sara wasn’t feeling so optimistic. She was walking through the museum, a pile of papers in her hands and a pen behind her ear as she tried to avoid -

“Sara!”

That.

She turned to look at Ray. “Don’t start.”

Ray tilted his head in disapproval. “You shouldn’t be standing so much. The doctor said -”

“I’m walking, Ray. I’m fine. And the doctor cleared me to go back to work weeks ago.”

“I know, but -”

“Ray.”

“But Sara, you were -”

“ _ Ray _ .”

“Fine,” he huffed. “Fine.” He fell into step beside her, obviously planning on walking her to wherever she was going and nothing she could say would dissuade him. She’d tried enough this week and just decided to give in today.

“So, how’s it going?” Ray asked, completely transparent.

“Please,” Sara sighed. “Not today.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I was just going to talk about your article.”

She almost laughed at the absurdity. The article she’d managed to carry through kidnapping, gunshots, and escapes through Mardi Gras had been officially accepted for publication in the next issue of the  _ Journal of Aesthetic _ , and though it was a great achievement, she couldn’t care less. And neither could Ray.

“But,” Ray continued, “since you’re here, I was wondering if you -”

She stopped, never in a million years going to tell Ray that she was actually a little tired, though it had less to do with the lingering pain and more to do with her sleepless nights. “I haven’t heard from Leonard.”

“But are you sure he hasn’t contacted you?” Ray whined, his eyes wide, as if it had been him who was being ignored, rather than her. “It’s been three months! He’s sent letters to the police, but not to you? Not even a code? Or a romantic gesture?”

Sara shook her head, the perfect excuse to shift her papers and not look at Ray. “I’m sure. And I don’t think he will. Savage is...Savage is smart. He knew who I was. If Leonard tried to contact me, Savage might be able to use that.”

“But your police escort hasn’t reported anything.”

That was a whole different set of complications. Because Savage was still at large, and because Sara had been testifying in Thawne’s case, and was about to testify in Merlyn’s in a few days, she had a constant police presence to keep her protected, should one of them try to take revenge. Even if Leonard wanted to contact her, there was no way for him to get close. And that’s if he wanted to.

“No, they haven’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a possibility,” Sara said.

“But -”

“Ray,” Sara interrupted him again, this time letting her voice share a bit of her exhaustion. “I really need to finish this before I fly back to New Orleans next week.”

Ray nodded, downcast. “Okay. But if he contacts you…”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Sara said, not putting much hope behind that. Retreating to her office, Sara put the papers down and sat down in her seat, a little heavier than she intended to.

It had been three months and three weeks since she woke up in the hospital, and there hadn’t been one word from Leonard after his first message. She’d reached out to West every few days at first, but after the next three letters came without a note to her, she stopped trying. West kept saying that if it was Leonard reaching out, he had a pardon coming to him for his part in Savage’s organization. Even if they had yet to catch Savage, with Leonard’s help, Interpol and the FBI had been dismantling one arm after another of Savage’s work. There couldn’t be much left, but there was still no word from him.

She couldn’t help but consider that maybe that was the end of it. That they’d had their whirlwind romance, such as it was, and it was over. As much as she tried to accept that, she couldn’t. It had felt like so much more. But it wasn’t like she had much to remember it by. Damien had her luggage disposed of when she and Leonard had escaped that night. She lost her clothes, her phone, her shoes, and the one poem she’d managed to hold onto. The only thing she had left was Leonard’s ring. She ran her thumb over it now, staring at the silver metal.

She’s thought about reaching out to Mick or the Lisa Snart she’d managed to find in Central City, but she didn’t want to draw any attention to them if Savage really was having her watched. If Leonard had stayed away for years in an effort to protect them, she wouldn’t mess it up because of a few quiet months. Not that she wasn’t tempted.

Sara stared at the ring for another couple of seconds, then sighed and looked at the paperwork on her desk. She wanted to be certain to be on her game for Merlyn’s trial next week, and that meant getting all this done before she left. So she put thoughts of thieves and rings and police out of her mind and bent her head to her work.

* * *

Sara paced behind the stage, her phone held tight to her ear.

_ “Hello?” _ Ray answered, slightly mumbled.

“Why the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

There was a shuffle as Ray moved on the other end of the line. Looking at her watch, she didn’t feel that badly about the time - it was ten here in New York, so that meant it was already seven AM in Central City. Usually, Ray was up much earlier.

_ “Because being asked to speak at the International Conference an Art History and Theory is an amazing honor and they’re all lucky to hear you,” _ Ray said, coughing a little.

“How are you feeling?”

_ “Completely miserable. I’m supposed to be there with you, but this flu is just...” _

“I’m sorry.”

_ “It’s okay. It’s more important that you’re there. But I was going to be your morale boost, so here it comes: Sara Lance, you were shot twice seven months ago and not only did you stop the man who did it, you helped imprison his minions and saved who knows how much art from being stolen in the future. You can handle a room of academics.” _

Sara smiled, having heard several versions of this speech in the past half a year, but it still helped. “Thanks, Ray.”

_ “You’re gonna kill it, Sara. Now go get out there. I’m recording the live stream so we can watch it over and over when you get back.” _

“That’s not helping.”

_ “It helps me from suffering from FOMO.” _

“Don’t say FOMO.”

_ “I’ll say what I want, I’m sick.” _

“Get some rest, Ray.”

_ “Good luck.” _

Sara thanked him and hung up. Then she took a deep breath and listened to the introduction.

“...and now, for our keynote speaker, Dr. Sara Lance.”

Sara stepped out into the lights, her article in her hands. Approaching the podium, she had to swallow, the lights so bright she could barely see the audience.

Then she looked at the words she’d edited while staying in a murderer’s house and decided she could take on a bunch of academics.

* * *

Sara opened the door to her hotel room with a sigh. Conventions were great and all, but she hated how everyone felt the need to drink themselves into a stupor every single night. She’d begged out of a group of post-Renaissance scholars because she’d partied with them once in Berlin and nearly had her passport revoked. Tonight, she planned to go back to her room to revel in some peace and quiet, after the large dinner with the organizers of the convention.

Since Ray was supposed to be with her, he’d splurged for a suite, which she now had all to herself. The two queen beds were through the open archway to the left, and the bathroom immediately to her right. In front of her, her curtained windows opened up to a view of Central Park, with a low couch, fridge, and coffee table arranged in front of a television.

Dropping her purse on the table, Sara kicked off her heels and started a beeline for the mini-fridge when there was a knock on the door.

She rolled her eyes and went to the door, peering through the peephole. If it was the professor from Harvard, she was going to break his arm. Turns out, it was the concierge from downstairs. She opened the door keeping her foot behind it. Old habit and all.

“Dr. Lance?”

“Yes?”

The concierge smiled. “I have a delivery for you.” He reached to the side, pulling a small bundle from the table next to her door.

A small bouquet of morning glories.

Sara opened the door wider, her heart pounding in her chest. “When did these come in?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

She took the bouquet, looking through them, but not seeing… “Was there a card?”

“No, ma’am. Just the flowers.”

Sara gave him a tremulous smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Dr. Lance. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Sara echoed on instinct, closing the door.

As soon as she was alone, Sara lifted the bouquet to her nose, half-believing it was a dream. The fragrant scent threw her back several months and surrounded her with the sound of jazz music and the smell of pastries and a drawling voice that said -

“Hey, Doc.”


	17. The Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love lifts them up so their feet scarcely touch the ground. Sweeping down like a comet, or an angel, he bends over backwards to kiss her. Marc Chagall will soon be married to the teenage Bella, his beloved muse, and so the gravity-defying strength of their partnership begins. This is a vision of wild and sensual love, but also of transcendent adoration. The shawl-draped room is a kind of shrine. Chagall wrote of his future wife: “I had only to open my window and blue air, love and flowers entered in with her.”
> 
> https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2016/feb/14/the-10-best-love-paintings-valentines-rembrandt-watteau-renoir-chagall-magritte#img-6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I earn my M rating here, ghouls and boys.

Sara turned slowly, the bouquet falling to her side. At the open window of her third-floor hotel room, stood Leonard Snart.

The dark sweater was beneath a black jacket this time, fighting back New York’s fall chill. The dark pants and short boots almost exactly like the ones he’d worn the night they’d escaped from Damien’s. The casual stance as he leaned against the wall, the blue eyes fixated on her, it was like her memories come to life. There was a faint smile on his face and some shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before, but it was really him. He looked so similar to how she’d imagined him in the past half a year that it took her a moment to find her voice.

“Still not a fan of doors?” Sara asked, her voice sounding surprisingly calm.

His smile grew a little more as he pushed himself away from the wall. “I don’t think they strike the right amount of gravitas.”

“But scaling a wall does?”

“Doesn’t it?” He took another step forward, his blue eyes still on her.

The air felt heavy and hard to breathe. Sara couldn’t look away from him, but she didn’t know what to say. Her overworked mind finally managed to come up with, “Savage?”

“On the run still,” Leonard said, putting his hands in his pockets. “He’s here in New York right now. Local authorities have a tail on him.”

“Why aren’t you out there?” Sara asked.

“Well, there was this keynote speaker I really wanted to hear today,” he said, looking at her through his lashes. “And after seven months of doing the feds’ job, I thought I deserved a night off.”

“One night?” The question escaped before she could censor herself, not wanting to sound too desperate.

“Just one for now,” Leonard said quietly. “But it’ll be a lot more, soon.”

“What happens after you catch him?” Sara said, fidgeting with the flowers in her hand.

He took another step and his cologne started to bleed through the bouquet, making Sara’s breath catch. “From what little communication I’ve had with the authorities, it appears I’ll be given a full pardon, provided I can bring Savage in. I’ll head back to Central City.”

“For your sister,” Sara said, trying not to allow herself to hope, but failing miserably.

“That’s one reason.”

“Mick.”

“Another good one.”

“Your ring.”

That caught him by surprise, and his eyes dropped to her hand, the ring peeking out from between the flowers. “I do really like that ring.”

“I kept it safe.”

“You have an interesting definition of the word,” Leonard said, the first bit of unease creeping into his tone. His gaze moved from the ring to where the new scars were hidden beneath her blouse.

“I’m okay,” she told him. “Really.”

“I know that now. But I didn’t know that you would be that night.” His eyes rose to hers again, and Sara saw the guilt of these past months weighing on him.

“I told you to go,” she reminded him.

“But I listened.”

“If you hadn’t, no one would be even close to Savage. And you wouldn’t be so close to being able to go home.”

“And is it just home that’s waiting for me after this?” Leonard asked, almost quickly.

Sara swallowed. “Lisa and Mick. Your ring.”

“What about you, Doc?” he asked flatly, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“Central City’s my home, too. I’ll be there,” she said, prevaricating just a bit.

“I’m aware,” he said. “But what about me and you? You saved my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Len,” she said quietly, wondering if a sense of debt was the only thing that had brought him here tonight.

“I know that,” he said, taking a step forward. “But don’t you...you said you chose me, and then I said…” he trailed off expectantly, and Sara stared at him, legitimately confused for the first time.

“You said hi in your message,” Sara said, frowning a little.

“No, right before the cops came in. Before I left, I said,” he stopped himself. “You didn’t hear me?”

Sara scoffed, “I mean, I had just been shot twice, I was bleeding out, and cops were breaking down the door.”

His mouth twitched, but the confused irritation vanished, realization taking its place. “And now you’ve gone seven months without a word from me. What you must think.”

Despite his words, he didn’t seem very concerned. His voice had sunk even lower, hanging onto every syllable as if he turned each one completely in his mouth before setting them loose.

She’d thought a lot of things, and none of them as uncomplimentary as he seemed to suggest. “What did you say?”

Leonard took the last step to close the distance between them. He reached down and took the bouquet of flowers from her hand, tossing them onto the small couch, before stepping completely into her space. Sara looked up, keeping her eyes on his even as she felt his hand run up her arm to wrap around her elbow. Just that small bit of contact had her heart racing.

“Well, let me say it very clearly, so you don’t miss it this time,” Leonard murmured, his voice quiet, but for all she knew, the only sound in the world. He moved from her arm to hold the edge of her jaw, his thumb running across her cheek.

“Doc...Sara. I love you,” Leonard said.

Sara swallowed, leaning into his hand a bit more. “Len...”

“I love you,” he repeated. “I loved you then. I love you now. I will love you later. I didn’t want to love you. I tried not to, but you made it impossible. Loving you will undoubtedly complicate things, but I don’t care, because I love you. So much.”

Every tiny bit of doubt that had begun to take root in her heart in the past seven months vanished immediately as if they’d never been there in the first place. She reached up to wrap her hand around his wrist, keeping him close as she looked up at him, leaning a little closer. “Well, I don’t get myself shot for just anyone.”

“Me neither,” he answered, smiling.

Sara searched his eyes for a second. “One night?” she repeated.

“Lot can happen in one night, Doc,” Leonard whispered, leaning down to finally,  _ finally _ _,_ kiss her for the first time in over half a year.

She’d thought about this moment a lot in the past seven months, and had a momentary thought that the real thing might be disappointing. But she had no reason to be worried.

Sara inhaled sharply as Leonard caught her lips with his, tensing for a second before she allowed herself to sink into it. His mouth moved against hers, the words both of them had wanted to say since last they’d seen one another translated into the slide of her lips, the scrape of his teeth, the flick of her tongue, and nothing seemed all that important to say, save one thing.

Pulling back, Sara panted, trying to catch her breath, even as Leonard’s arms started to slide around her with intent, his eyes swallowed up in darkness.

“I love you, too,” Sara whispered. “And it’s still me and you.”

Leonard chuckled, and it went straight through her to jolt against her nerves. “Well, now that we’re both on the same page…”

Sara grabbed his collar with one hand, pulling him back down to her, needing him more than anything else right now. Forget articles and oxygen, she would climb inside Leonard Snart and live happily if she could. He seemed to share that thought, pressing as close as he possibly could, until Sara’s hips hit the back of the couch, then another half step more.

Hopping up, Sara sat on the back of the couch, grateful that the cushions were firm enough to help hold her up. Leonard hooked his hand around the back of her knee and her legs wrapped around his hips instinctually, and Leonard ground forward against her, both of them gasping at the sensation -

She shoved at his jacket, hearing it hit the ground with a dull thump. One of his hands was pressing against the small of her back, holding her steady as his free hand worked at the buttons on her blouse. She shrugged it off her shoulders as Leonard finished pulling his sweater over his head. Between the kisses and gasps for air, Sara couldn’t help a breathless laugh as she felt Leonard searching for the catch on her skirt before he swore and just focused on hiking it up. She started on his belt and he grabbed her waist tightly to hold her against him. But then he stilled, his finger tracing the edge of a small scar on her back.

He leaned back enough to look at her eyes, his fingers now mapping the two scars on her back. Sara stared up at him, trying to smile in a way that said everything she felt. That she’d made her choice. That she didn’t regret it. That she’d do it again without hesitation. That she loved him.

Whatever he saw, it made the tension dissipate, and the light returned to his eyes. But instead of going back to what he had been so close to doing, he wrapped his arm around her back and lifted her up off of the couch. Sara put her arms around his neck at the unexpected movement, narrowing her eyes at him even as her legs tightened around his waist. “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“We have all night, no need to rush,” he murmured as he carried her toward the bedroom, both of them half-naked. She didn’t object to the lack of clothes and busied herself for a few moments learning the lines of his shoulders and neck. Next thing she knew, Leonard was laying her down on one of the beds, the comforter cool on her bare back. It was even darker in here, the only light coming from the half-open curtains that let faint starlight spill in.

With the different position, Leonard found the zipper of her skirt and pulled it down, sliding the fabric off of her hips and onto the ground. Leonard leaned back for a moment, his eyes tracing over every exposed inch of her skin. They’d been through too much for her to feel self-conscious now but was a close thing until Leonard met his eyes again. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I like the blue.”

Sara smiled and noted that she seriously had to thank Ray for suggesting this set of underwear now.

“I’d like you better with fewer clothes,” Sara responded, hooking her ankle around the back of his knee as she sat up. She went back to her unfinished work on his belt, the two of them fumbling with catches and zippers and lingering hands until there was nothing left. Leonard wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, kissing her as he lowered both of them to the bed, his knee between her legs.

Despite the position, their kisses seemed to grow slower, savoring with no sense of time. Sara’s hands ran over the plane of his back, his palms learning his scars, but not stopping on any one of them until she felt a familiar one on his back, with its mirror on his stomach.

Leonard pulled away enough to look at her, his nose brushing against hers as the two of them caught their breath. Sara didn’t know what to say, so she smiled up at him, catching his grin in the light.

“Definitely didn’t think we’d end up here when we met in Central City,” he murmured, the words brushing against her lips.

Sara laughed quietly. “I thought we’d end up here until you started talking.”

“Oh really?” He bent his head to her neck, his mouth working at places she didn’t realize were so sensitive, slowly moving down her body. “How so?”

“Really,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “You looked smart, you were handsome as hell, and you were at my favorite painting. Then I found out you were a -” she broke off with a gasp as his hand unexpectedly started to slide up her leg as he moved steadily downward.

“A what?” he said, his words buzzing against her hip.

“An asshole,” Sara said breathlessly.

Leonard laughed, his free hand curling around her hip. “And now?”

His lips were just centimeters away from where she really wanted them, she looked down at him, his eyes dark as he licked his lips.

“Still an asshole.”

“Guilty,” he grinned, unrepentant. But then he lowered his head and Sara threw her head back, seeing stars. 

Leonard proved as good at this as he was at everything else, and it wasn’t long until Sara was grabbing at his too-short hair and gasping his name into the shadows.

He didn’t want long after that, a quick confirmation she was protected, then he wrapped one arm around her waist, tilting her hips up before he closed the final distance between them with a single, swift movement.

They both stilled, Leonard staring into her eyes as she felt the pounding of his heart, her own echoing the frantic beat. Sara smiled up at him, her nails scraping lightly along his shoulder in a gesture to keep going. He took the hint.

It was going to be over quickly, the two of them having started this journey months ago, and all that time to just heighten every bit of anticipation. But it didn’t matter. It was perfect and wonderful and amazing and Sara had never felt like this with anyone before and -

Leonard’s hips snapped against hers and all rational thought left her. She wasn’t even conscious of what was coming out of her mouth, but he seemed to like it as he kissed what little sense was left out of her. The two of them hurtled toward the end, each dragging the other along until they were flying towards the edge together, incoherent save their names. The air left Sara’s lungs and Leonard whispered that he loved her and they burned up together in the darkness.

* * *

Sara watched as Leonard got dressed the next morning, the sunlight barely peeking through the curtains. She did her best to keep the smile on her face, but she wasn’t looking forward to what was coming next.

Leonard sat on the edge of the bed next to her, pulling on his boots before he looked at her.

“Savage is running out of lairs. It’s just a matter of time.”

Sara nodded, sitting up as she held the sheet against her. “I know.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “And I’m highly motivated.”

“I know that, too.”

Leonard stared at her for a moment before leaning in to kiss her. Despite hours of this the night before, Sara felt like each kiss was so perfectly different than the last. This one was sweet, and slow, and promised much more to come, but not just yet.

She knew he’d get Savage, she knew he’d finish this and come back to her in Central City and their life away from murderers would begin in earnest.

But right now, she still held onto his sweater, stealing every precious second she could.

Leonard let her break the kiss, a lot longer than what he’d probably intended, but he was smiling at her, his blue eyes dancing. “Gonna miss me?”

“Yes, but I’m sure I’ll find some way to keep busy.”

“Just steer clear of forgeries and murderers.”

“No promises.”

He smiled and kissed her again, a little quicker, and she felt him start to stand before she opened her eyes.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got him. We’ll celebrate.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sara said.

“This isn’t goodbye.”

“I know.”

He stepped out of the bedroom and went towards the - door? As he opened it, he looked back and caught her eye, grinning at her.

“No window?” Sara asked.

“You’ve changed me, Doc,” he said. With a quick wink, Leonard Snart stepped out of her door, and she didn’t know the next time he’d be back.

But she had his ring, his flowers, and his promise. 

She could be patient. He was worth waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "I love you" was inspired by Vicky Bliss's Trojan Gold.


	18. Parure of Queen Marie-Amélie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is generally believed that Queen Hortense acquired the jewellery from the Empress Josephine. However, there is no real proof of this. An Orleans family tradition that the jewels once belonged to Marie Antoinette complicates matters even further. It is difficult to obtain any firm proof about the past history of the jewels, which means that it is almost impossible to date them.
> 
> https://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/set-jewellery

Two months and a week later, Sara walked into her room in Central City, her phone ringing in her purse. Juggling her keys and her phone, she managed to answer, barely glancing at the display. “Hello?”

_ “Dr. Lance, it’s Detective West.” _

Sara closed her door, not saying anything, her heart choking her throat. West wouldn’t be calling unless Savage was caught or...if Leonard had been…

_ “Savage was delivered to Interpol this morning, unconscious and tied up like a Christmas present.” _

Sara managed to take a breath but still couldn’t find her words.

_ “Mr. Snart has a pardon waiting for him when he arrives in Central City. We’ve removed your police escort, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” _

“Thank you,” Sara said quietly.

_ “I look forward to meeting your thief, Dr. Lance,” _ West said gently, before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Sara laughed, leaning her head against the door. Savage was caught. Leonard was alive. It was over. For real. On instinct, she went to the window, but it was shut and still locked. Mildly disappointed, she turned around and caught a glimpse of something in her bedroom.

She pushed open her door, seeing a small box on the bedspread. There was a small tag, and Sara turned it over, revealing Leonard’s familiar handwriting.

**_And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us._ **

The box was small and Sara opened the lid carefully. Inside, gleamed two diamond and sapphire earrings. Sara arched a brow; her focus on Baroque didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize other famous pieces. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, which she wasn’t, these were the earrings that had once belonged to Queen Hortense. If these were a copy, they were excellent.

She rather doubted it, though.

Sara took the earrings out of the box and saw a piece of paper inside. She picked it up, looking at it for a few seconds before she grabbed her phone. Making a call, she put it on speakerphone. Ray picked up after a single ring, and Sara finished putting on the earrings.

_ “Hey, Sara. What’s up?” _

She glanced at the jewels in her ears, sparkling as brightly as the smile she saw herself wearing. “Remember how you owe me a real vacation?”

_ “Uh, yes?” _

“Great.” She picked up the piece of paper that had an open-ended ticket to Paris. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll be gone for two weeks.”

_ “Seriously? What for?” _

Sara grinned at her reflection. “I’ve got a date.” Sara looked at the last piece of paper once more as she hung up on Ray’s startled questions.

She got packing quickly, wanting to be certain she made her flight.

After all, these earrings were supposed to be in the Louvre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonard’s last note was from Pablo Neruda’s Captain’s Verses #4.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Thanks for staying with me on this rather different journey.
> 
> I'm working on a few other short things currently.
> 
> I love all you guys!! Thanks for reading and commenting. I always appreciate it! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Leonard quoted Filippo Tommaso Marinetti's Futurist Manifesto.  
> Sara retorted with Edgar Degas, the full quote is “Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.”


End file.
